Insurgence
by A Hidden Path
Summary: A dark sci-fi story starring Izumi Koushiro and OC Anami Eimi. The chosen children are spread over a galaxy held in the grip of a power-hungry emperor and his ravenous beasts, slowly united by the task of rising up against his rule. Each of them must use their magical Gifts and work together to win a worthwhile future.
1. Distant Heart

**Distant Heart**

Izumi Koushiro made his silent way down the gray, nondescript hallway, staring straight ahead and wondering which of two upgrade options he would choose for his computer on the bridge. He was seven years old, but that failed to prevent him from having a place on the starship's team of computer experts, who gathered vital information, analyzed it, provided security, and bypassed enemy security measures. His thoughts were deeply entrenched in the pros and cons of each upgrade when someone grabbed his left shoulder and smashed it into the steel wall.

Koushiro was very small, even among his peers, and the impact jarred him greatly, half winding him. He gasped for air and tried to identify his attacker, but his face was pressed into a stomach. Whoever was bullying him was roughly twice his size, but that information didn't really narrow down the pool of suspects. He pushed out instinctively, trying to put some distance between their two bodies so that he could breathe. His defiance earned him another rough shove, but the other child backed off enough for Koushiro to get some air.

Glancing up, Koushiro took in the jeering, ovular face of the boy standing over him. His eyes were hard, small, dark, and beady. He had brown hair, cropped very short. It was Masa, who was famous aboard the massive starship for his nose and ears, which had, for some mysterious and unfortunate reason, grown much faster than the rest of his features. Resignation, hopeless and heavy, settled over Koushiro. A quick check down the long hallway told him that there were no adults to interfere, which meant that a beating was sure to follow. But, as Masa's fist drew back, there were no accompanying feelings of fear or dread. There was only numbness, and the faint wish that this encounter weren't taking place.

The blow connected with Koushiro's face, shoving his head into the wall with enough force to blacken his vision. The child made no noise, gave no real indication that he had been hurt at all, save for his sudden inability to support himself. He leaned heavily on the wall and stared at the floor, waiting for his senses to return. There was pain, of course. The blow seemed to shove his entire body beneath a heavy, cold layer of water, and whatever Masa was saying to him was drowned out by a high-pitched ringing. Worse yet, the collision of his head and the wall seemed to make his brain slosh around in his skull, causing shock waves that resulted in deep, debilitating hurt. By the time Koushiro came back to himself, he realized that Masa had pulled out his pocket knife and was using it to pop off the buttons of his gray uniform jacket. If he could have, Koushiro would have rolled his eyes and sighed. Masa was _so_ predictable.

As he had expected, the larger boy ripped his jacket off, leaving Koushiro in an undershirt and gray slacks. Masa grabbed his left wrist and snorted, then shoved it into the wall, pulling it upward to draw the arm to its full length. It didn't hurt physically, but Koushiro was already aware that there were many varieties of pain.

"Hey, crip," he growled, staring at the appendage. "Gimme your arm. I could use a back scratcher." Koushiro forced himself not to look at his prosthetic. He had certainly spent enough time with it to know its appearance without the reminder. His mechanical limb was composed of steel rods shaped like the skeleton housed within the flesh of an arm. It had a full range of motion, and it was much stronger and more durable than his right arm. However, he had no sensation in his left arm and hand, could receive no tactile input from the prosthetic. Its temperature varied wildly with his environment, and the design was such that his left arm seemed a lot thinner than his right. It wasn't too terribly obvious when he was wearing his uniform jacket, but when it was exposed like this, the difference between his two arms was very much emphasized.

Koushiro took a deep breath and forced himself to stand using his own strength. He could easily bash Masa on the head with his prosthetic and be done with this encounter. Having it was like carrying a blunt weapon with him at all times, but he had never used it for that purpose, no matter how many times he was bullied. His submission was due to a mixture of apathy and guilt. Masa and the other children who tormented him had no way of knowing that he had lost something much, much more precious during the attack that had cost him his left arm. They were ignorant of the fact that Koushiro dimly saw each blow as a way to assuage the guilt set deep within his heart, like some sordid pearl in an oyster beneath the still waters of the open sea. And it was highly unlikely that they were aware of just how little he cared for himself, given his lauded technical skills.

Masa roughed him up some more, but with nothing so fierce as his opening blow. It didn't take long for Koushiro's lack of response to eat away his enthusiasm for hurting him, and soon the larger boy wandered off. Koushiro bent to pick up all of his buttons, then tucked them neatly in one of the front pockets of his jacket. This wasn't the first time that this had happened, and the laundry employees would know where to look for the buttons when they found his jacket in the bin settled below the chute. When his task was complete, he placed the jacket over his shoulders and continued on his way down the hall, ignoring the pounding, drumming pain in his face and head.

Another layer of ice settled around his heart without his willing it, pushing it further from the reach of the world.

**Author's Comments**

**Disclaimer: **As a disclaimer for the entirety of this story, I do not own Digimon. This is a non-profit fan work.

When I start a story, I like to give some info for how names will be handled and things like that. I'll say much, much less in the future.

This is a sci-fi/fantasy story (I've always been a bit unclear on exactly what separates the two, and this story has elements of both). I'm very, very excited about this story, as I'm a fantasy writer in my heart. I'm hoping that you'll see the real strength of my writing with this one, but don't we all hope that with everything we do? XD

Anyway, this story starts out rated T for violence and dark situations. Eventually it will be bumped up to M, but whether it's for descriptive violence or adult romantic scenes is hard for me to say. I'm not sure which one will come first (they will both be in there, though).

Here's the house keeping for this story: although it certainly does not take place in Japan, I will be using a mixture of Japanese names and dub names, and I will be using some honorifics. However, it's a pretty loose thing. Some characters will use honorifics, others won't, but I'm hoping it will come out pretty naturally (for example, Koushiro will use them, and he'll address people by their Japanese names, while Taichi will ditch honorifics whenever he can and refer to people casually by their dub names). See wikipedia for a refresher on Japanese honorifics if you're a little rusty :) And here is a handy name chart for you, if you don't remember all of the Japanese names versus dub names.

**Japanese/English Dub/Nicknames**

Yagami Taichi/ Tai Kamiya

Ishida Yamato/ Matt Ishida/ Yama-honorific

Takenouchi Sora/ Sora Takenouchi

Izumi Koushiro/ Izzy Izumi/ Kou-honorific

Tachikawa Mimi/ Mimi Tachikawa

Kido Jou/ Joe Kido

Takaishi Takeru/ T.

Yagami Hikari/ Kari Kamiya

Motomiya Daisuke/ Davis Motomiya/ Dai-honorific

Inoue Miyako/ Yolei Inoue/ Mi-honorific

Hida Iori/ Cody Hida

Ichijouji Ken/ Ken Ichijouji

Ichijouji Osamu/ Sam Ichijouji

Anami Eimi/ Amy Anami

Please keep an eye on my profile for hints of when the next update is scheduled to occur :) And, as always, please read and review. I want to be a better writer. That's all, thanks for reading!


	2. Little Bird Lost

**Little Bird Lost**

Izumi Satoru walked onto the bridge and glanced at the computers clustered on either side of the captain's seat and the enormous monitor it faced. Sure enough, his son was sitting in front of one of them, typing rapidly. Since the starship had landed on a dusty, barren planet, most of the crew members were off-duty, so there was much less activity here than usual. His boy was taking advantage of this and getting some work done in rare peace and quiet.

It was a pity to disturb him, but there was something Satoru wanted him to see. "Koushiro," he said gently, coming to a stop a few feet behind his son. The boy swiveled his chair around to face him, smiling when he caught his eye. His son looked almost exactly like him. They both had somewhat unruly hair, colored a phenomenally deep, dark red. Their eyes were deep-set, black, and serious. Each of them had heavy brows that contrasted sharply with their delicate noses and sensual lips. Their skin was pale and their builds were slight and slim, almost scrawny. Satoru smiled fondly as he remembered his wife's jest that she had played no role in forming the boy, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

"Yes, sir?" Koushiro folded his hands politely in his lap and looked up at his father. Satoru was the only person who could almost always command his son's full attention. His boy had the awkward habit of preferring his work and studies to the company of others. He came by it honestly; Satoru was also known for his lack of social graces.

Satoru held his hand out to his son, and the boy took it and hopped down from his seat. As usual, Koushiro's left hand was cold to the touch, but that could hardly be helped when the entire arm was made of metal, so Satoru ignored it. "Since we've landed for supplies" he said, rolling his fingers over the cool digits, "I've obtained permission from the captain to purchase some new equipment for our team. I want you to come with me." Koushiro glanced back at the computer and frowned, then rearranged his expression with visible effort. Satoru could tell from the way Koushiro shifted his weight from foot to foot that he wanted to ask for a reprieve, or at least to ask why he was required to go. But his militaristic training won out, and he nodded and took his place by his father's side. Satoru patted his shoulder affectionately, and Koushiro flashed a brief smile. They walked down the hallway that led to the half-circle containing the bridge.

This brought them to a wide, ornate set of stairs, which emptied into a hallway whose walls and floor were all plain, shiny, and gray. The Drifting Reverie, known affectionately as Drift to its crew, was a labyrinth of steel, with identical halls connected in criss-crossing patterns. It was baffling to the uninitiated, but anyone who understood the code labeling each door could navigate easily enough. Satoru used this information to make his way to the airlock. He passed through it, then punched in the commands to lower the entry platform to the dusty, dry ground of the scraggly planet. As soon as the hatch opened and the stairs descended, Satoru raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sudden illumination of the sun. Koushiro pressed his whole face into his hands and hissed softly. The boy could count the number of times he had stepped outside of Drift on his digits, and that was why Satoru was taking him along. He wanted him to see bits of the world that he hoped they would be able to reclaim some day, wanted him to see something besides the screens he worked in front of everyday.

Koushiro clung to his hand when they reached the ground. The crowd of people was so dense that it was like walking into a living ocean. Heat, dust, and the stenches of sweat and unwashed bodies hung heavily over the area. Satoru pulled his son closer when the milling throng of pedestrians threatened to break apart their connected hands. Sighing, Satoru lifted Koushiro and sat him on his shoulders. "What do you see?" he asked, tipping his head up. The boy's eye level was now just barely above the head of the average passer-by.

"Food stalls. Many spacecrafts, but none so grand as ours. Tents, market stalls. Are you certain there is equipment worth purchasing here?" Koushiro wrapped his thin arms around Satoru's neck, and the fading coolness of his prosthetic was a welcome relief. The boy positioned his lips near his father's ears so that he could be heard over the din of the crowd.

Ah, now here was the perfect opportunity for a lesson. "Koushiro, things aren't always as they appear. If there's one thing planets are eager to do these days, it's to give the impression of being bleak, defeated, and uninteresting. Now, can you think of why that would be?"

Koushiro threaded his fingers together around his father's neck, stalling for time before he gave his answer. Satoru knew that the child did not need extra time to think of a response. He needed it to steel himself before he spoke the words. "So that they fail to attract the attention of authorities. So that they will not become targets for imperial occupation."

"Well said." Satoru patted his son's leg. "And that, son, is the difference between looking and seeing." Koushiro went quiet, and Satoru knew that he was absorbing the message, probably in more ways than he could have hoped or envisioned. Satoru was an incredibly intelligent man, and he was responsible for analyzing information and recommending courses of action for the ship in scenarios varying as greatly as combat, infiltration, and the management of crew members. Additionally, there was no piece of computer equipment that he could not fix, no database or security system he could not hack into. His rank was second only to the captain and equal to the first mate.

But, compared to his son, he was a bloody imbecile. That thought brought him so much joy, so much panic, so much pride, so much fear. It was crucial that Satoru raise him properly, that he teach him about morality and responsibility. Otherwise, with his massive intelligence and computer skills, his son had the potential to become a living horror, perhaps even a new emperor. The trouble was, Koushiro didn't connect to anyone but him. At best, the other children on Drift ignored him. He was too small to participate in physical training, which meant that he was entirely uninteresting to the children who could do so. Other children were jealous of his intellect and of the fact that he already had official responsibilities. And, sadly, there were children who were mean-spirited enough to target him for his slight height and his robotic arm. Koushiro wandered onto the bridge with bruises and black eyes more often than anyone cared to admit. If only there were a child on Drift who truly understood the difference between looking and seeing… Satoru was convinced that such a child would befriend his son immediately.

Satoru shook his head to clear it of those thoughts. He really needed to stop drifting off like that; moments of inattention were luxuries that he could not afford in the open like this. The analyst positioned himself in a part of the crowd that was sweeping towards his destination like a current. Glancing up, Satoru saw that Koushiro was tilting his head all about, trying to see everything. As they moved away from the landing field, stalls and tents gave way to buildings, most of them made of adobe and in states of dreary disrepair. Every once in a while there was a concrete structure, but they were few and far between.

The walk was longer than he remembered, and almost half an hour passed before familiar landmarks surrounding the store he needed appeared. Satoru sighed with relief. He was already exhausted from walking about in the sun and the heat in this crowd, already slightly depressed at the endless stretches of barren land that made up the area. His mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he recalled the captain's suggestion that he participate in physical training more often.

He was in the process of trying to force his way out of the flow of the crowd when the screaming began. Satoru immediately lowered his son so that his head was out of sight. He balanced him on his left hip and pulled his pistol out of its holster. Koushiro tilted his left arm so that the underside was facing him, then input some commands on the small monitor installed there.

"Distress signal sent," he said. His voice was tight and high. Satoru grunted an acknowledgment and shoved his way into a nearby concrete building, paying no mind to the people he knocked over. It was roguish behavior, he knew, but it was paramount that he and his son survive. They served Drift, and Drift was slowly shaping into the best hope of fighting off the empire. The people inside the building hadn't heard the screams yet, so he was able to move quickly through to the back of it, exit the structure, and emerge on the opposite street. He continued to move down the streets in this fashion until he found himself in a residential area far from where they had first heard the screaming.

Satoru paused and glanced over his shoulder. The last line of shops was to his back. Before him stood a forest of adobe dwellings, some towering over others on higher bits of land. He knew for certain that there was something wrong in the area behind him, but, then, there was something wrong here,too. A silence was hanging heavily over the town, and it almost seemed visible and ominous, like a thick fog. No one was moving on the dirt streets between houses. No children were shouting to each other in play. But at least no one was screaming, and that decided him.

Satoru ran across the open space between the last shops and the town, then pressed himself against the first abode house he came to. He glanced carefully around the corner, but his view was mostly cut off by another little dwelling. He wished he had something more adequate than the pistol in his hand. He wished his son were safely at base instead of pressed to his hip in an area that could become a battlefield at any moment. He wished he had more combat training. But, then, who didn't have a bucket full of wishes in this world?

There was nothing moving in his field of vision, so he gave the all clear signal to his son, sat him down, and cautiously stepped forward. He gagged and stepped back when he got a good look at the dirt lane. There were fresh bodies piled up in that open space, dying the dirt red with their blood. The wind shifted, and the scent of gunpowder, voided bowls, and vomit seeped into his mouth, nose, and throat, where it clung like a shirt against a sweaty body. Koushiro gagged beside him, then pressed his hands to his face. Satoru wasn't sure if he did it to block out the stench or to stifle the noise he was making.

Satoru glanced into the window of the house he was pressed against and fought down a groan. These were civilians. There was a woman collapsed by the sink, and the loaf of bread she had been kneading was still laying in wait for the press of her knuckles. The motionless form of a child sat in a chair by the table, her tiny hand crumpled over a crude, wooden toy. She was even younger than Koushiro. Bile rose up Satoru's throat, and he pressed it down with a will. He wasn't a soldier or an infiltrator. He had never been closer to this sort of thing than a screen.

"This is the direction the imperial soldiers and their beasts came from, isn't it?" Koushiro whispered. Satoru glanced down at him and nodded.

"Most likely. But to have attacked a village like this… What could they achieve from it, save for bad press?"

Koushiro stared down at the monitor on his left arm and sighed. "I suppose you haven't read those reports yet. I just put them together this morning. There have been whispers that the empire has been searching for Gifted people, particularly children, and that they don't take issue with resorting to violence." His eyes were streaming with silent tears, and his voice was shaking, but the boy was keeping it together for now, as he had been taught.

Satoru took a deep breath and cautiously walked into the open. He took a good, hard look at the bodies spread about, forcing himself to see. It soon became clear that the only people who had been shot were the ones who took up arms. The other bodies had bled out from savage bite wounds from beasts, which meant that the soldiers had released them on the remaining individuals when they had gotten whatever they came for. That was one of the downsides of fighting with beasts. Once their instincts were excited by battle, their blood lust became nearly insatiable, and it had to be settled before they could be calmed by their handlers. To make matters worse, they had a strong preference for live prey.

"We need to find a good evacuation spot," Satoru said heavily as he tore his eyes away from the carnage. "They'll have dispatched a shuttle to the beacon in your arm. High vantage points are helpful, because they are easier for the shuttle to reach." Koushiro nodded and glanced in the direction of the highest house. Satoru assessed the area and picked out the fastest route to that point that provided the most cover, then led the way, darting from one house to the next. They were nearly there when his son came to a halt.

Satoru turned and frowned, glancing about for any signs of movement. They were in the open. "Koushiro, they'll be here any minute. We need to make sure we're in place when they arrive. What's wrong?"

"Don't you hear it?" Koushiro asked, tilting his head towards the roof of an adobe house near the top of the tallest hill. "It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard!" Satoru strained his ears, and he did faintly pick up on a high-pitched sound, but he would much rather observe it from the safety of cover.

"Keep moving!" Satoru ordered. Koushiro blinked and trotted back to him, but he kept staring at the house. As they moved closer, Satoru began to hear the sound with greater clarity. He shuddered when he identified it as the lilting, sweet tones of a singing child. The voice was pure and bird-like, but there was a deep, desolate pain there, a pain that spoke of horror, suffering, and, above all else, loneliness. Although he was a man of science to the core, Satoru found himself wondering if he was hearing the ghost of a child. It seemed impossible for that sound to be coming from a living thing, especially here.

"What should we do?" Koushiro asked. Satoru felt his teeth start to grind. If it really was a child, he needed to do what he could to help, but he had no way of knowing if it was some sort of trap. But there really wasn't a choice; if they were going to climb to the roof of the highest house, they would be looking down on the singer.

"Stay silent. Move silently. We'll take a look from the evac point." Satoru continued on his planned course. Once they reached the highest house, they climbed the stairs built into the outer wall that led to the roof. He glanced to the side and saw that the shuttle, a small helicopter meant for moving crew members when they were planetside, was approaching far off in the distance. Drift and her crew were doubtlessly preparing to leave the planet, given the disturbance so close to the landing field. Picking them up was probably one of the last tasks before retreating. Satoru had to decide what to do about the singer before the shuttle reached them, as he could not afford to delay the departure of Drift.

As he neared the point where his head would be visible over the top of the roof, Satoru held a hand out to his son, signaling him to stay on the stairs. Then he cautiously looked over the edge, hissing in frustration when he saw that the roof was just a flat surface with no cover. He slipped onto his stomach and edged himself forward with his elbows until he had a clear view of the surrounding rooftops. His hands began to shake when he found the singer.

It was indeed a child, sitting on a roof with its knees pulled up against its chest. The tiny body was trembling and shaking. The roof was covered with a pool of blood, and still bodies surrounded the child's swaying form. Even as he looked the figure on, the puddle slowly grew outward. Soon it would be dripping down the sides of the house like some ghastly facsimile of a waterfall. From this distance, all he knew for sure was that the child had a length of dark brown hair. A girl, then, most likely.

Satoru didn't make a sound, but the girl's head snapped up suddenly, and her eyes locked unerringly on his. He gasped and pulled back when he saw her face. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils were so small in the bright sunlight that they seemed nonexistent. That and the tight pull of her facial muscles over her skull gave her the overwhelming appearance of madness. Her singing broke off when she saw him, and she threw herself on her feet, then lifted something out of the red pool. Satoru gasped and pulled back when her trembling arm raised up, pointing a pistol at his face.

"Y-you can't hurt me," she stammered. "You can't take me. No one can." Then she recoiled and twirled slightly to her left, pointing the gun at a new target. Satoru tilted his head just enough to get a peripheral view of whatever was behind him. He exclaimed when he saw his son advancing, standing up, with his palms held up and outward. Suddenly his own heartbeat was painful, as if a hand was gripping it like a vice, but his son looked calmer than he had ever seen him. He was smiling gently at the girl, and Satoru wished he had the luxury of boggling at him. That look of tenderness and compassion was something he had never seen on Koushiro's face.

"Won't you please sing again?" Koushiro asked, moving further onto the roof. "You're like a little bird. Your voice is enchanting." Something about what he said surprised the girl so greatly that she gasped and pressed her hands to her cheeks, dropping the gun. Satoru sagged against the hot adobe beneath him, unable to suppress a sigh of relief. Then the girl's eyes moved beyond both of them, and Satoru realized that the whoosing sound of the propeller blades was becoming audible. She covered her ears with her hands and stepped back, and something about the jerkiness of her motions seemed to imply a high probability of flight. "Wait!" Koushiro shouted. "That shuttle is with us! It's safe."

The girl froze and breathed so heavily that her whole body moved with the force of it. She looked like a fawn in danger, torn between freezing and fleeing. She gulped and spoke, and each word seemed to be a separate, exquisite effort. "And you're taking me with you?"

Satoru stared at her with his brow raised. What was it about what his son's words that had so radically changed her attitude? "Yes," he said, fighting to add a soothing layer to his voice. Drift often picked up people whose lives had been shattered by the empire and helped them get somewhere they could find help. Most children like this one ended up at orphanages, but something about the way his son was interacting with her was striking up his interest and pulling at his instincts.

A few moments later, the shuttle was abreast the rooftop, and Satoru lifted his son into the opening when a crew member hauled back the large door. He gestured towards the child and hopped into the shuttle, and it flew over to her position. The girl edged back and whimpered at the approach of the loud, large helicopter, and she seemed to be looking everywhere at once, as if to find some method of escape. Satoru jumped out of the vehicle and onto the roof, then held a hand out to her. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and moved backwards as he approached, kicking up tiny ripples in the blood. Satoru delicately stepped over the body of a boy who looked remarkably like the only surviving child, and she bristled and bared her teeth. Satoru froze, trying to find the reason for her sudden change from fear to aggression.

"Father," Koushiro called from the shuttle. Satoru put his foot on the pistol, whose grip was protruding from the dark pool, before he turned away from the girl. His son was gesturing for him to come back, so Satoru kicked the weapon off the side of the house and went to the shuttle, ignoring the gasp from the girl. Koushiro lifted his arms, and Satoru picked him up. He didn't want to set him in the blood, but Koushiro stared at the surface of the roof pointedly, so he sighed and put him down. "Please stay here," Koushiro said softly. Then he began to move towards the girl, holding his hands out. The posture sharply reminded Satoru of a painting in the tiny chapel on Drift. It featured an angel advancing on the viewer, shining radiance and benevolence down on the room. Satoru had always seen the chapel and its decorations as wishful thinking, but he suddenly wondered if he had been a touch too harsh in his opinions.

At first, the girl shrank back more than ever, and a faint growling seemed to be slipping from between her clenched teeth. Koushiro paused when he passed the boy who looked so much like her, then bent over the body and placed his right hand, his living hand, on its face. The girl snarled and leapt towards him, but halted when he spoke. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I honestly don't know what will happen to him now, or if anyone will hear this, but… For what it's worth… Goddess take him in her mercy." Koushiro shifted his attention from the dead boy to the girl, and Satoru suddenly realized that they were siblings. Pity, sorrow, and rage hit him all at once, like a brutal kick to the stomach. Satoru watched, somewhat awed, as Koushiro lowered his hand, and the glazed eyes were covered with pale, slightly purple lids. Moisture began to form in the girl's large, dark eyes, and she swayed on the balls of her feet and whimpered.

His son stepped away from the corpse and held his right arm out formally to the girl. Despite his shock over his son's behavior, Satoru felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Koushiro had been taught the etiquette of escorting and dancing for children in preparation for holiday festivities aboard Drift. He had complained in his polite, uncertain manner about it being an awkward waste of time, but it apparently had its uses after all.

"Little bird, you can still sing and fly. Please…" The girl stared at his arm, and Satoru shook his head. A girl who had spent all of her life in this village could hardly be expected to understand that gesture. Koushiro must have realized it too, because he crossed the small space that remained between them and gently took her hand. He pressed it against the inside of his forearm, then tugged her towards the shuttle. She followed sheepishly, shooting the occasional suspicious glare at Satoru. When they reached the shuttle, Satoru approached and lifted each of them into it, ignoring the girl's rough whine of protest. Then he accepted help up from the crew member inside the shuttle and watched him close the door behind him.

Koushiro took a seat on the bench pushed against the back of the interior of the small craft, then smiled at the girl and patted the spot next to him. She came over shyly and sat, and the aide sighed at the blood they were trailing. Satoru knew he wasn't looking forward to cleaning that up, and he could hardly blame him. He pressed his back against the wall furthest from the children, knowing that the girl distrusted adults at the moment.

"My name is Izumi Koushiro," his son said to the girl. She nodded, lifted her knees, and wrapped her arms around them, but she remained silent. Her tiny body began to tremble as the shuttle turned and began moving back towards Drift. She had probably never been in a vehicle of any kind before, so she would have been nervous even under normal circumstances. Satoru couldn't begin to imagine how she felt now. Just walking through that village had made him sick and desperately heart sore, and he hadn't grown up with those people. This girl had just violently, horrifically lost everything she had ever known, and was in the company of strangers whose intent had to seem dubious and uncertain to her. Satoru wondered once more why she had shifted from pointing a weapon at them to begrudgingly accepting them.

"What's your name?" Koushiro asked at last. He put a hand on the girl's shoulder, and she leaned into the touch, then pressed her body against his. She was filthy, covered with dust and dirt raised up in battle and caked with blood, but Koushiro opened his arms for her, and she threw herself into them. Her chest and diaphragm expanded with a sob, and her voice raised into a piercing, deafening keen that went on and on until they reached Drift.

Satoru placed a hand on his face and let his burning tears escape. He looked away from the children, unable to bear the girl's suffering, and wondering all the while where his son had found this mysterious strength and compassion.

**Author's Note**

I wrote this chapter about 2-3 weeks ago, but given what happened this Friday, I had a very difficult time posting anything that had violence in it. I really do want to express my sympathy, pain, and shock over the school shooting, and to give my condolences to anyone who was in any way hurt by it. It's just... like a gaping hole in my heart, even as someone who isn't connected to it in any way, save for the faint threads that connect all humans to each other.

On a story related note, you probably noticed that I'm implying that Satoru is Koushiro's birth father in this story. He is. So, really, Koushiro's last name should not be Izumi, since that name came from his adopted parents in the show. However, since some of the characters will be calling him Izzy, I couldn't change his last name, which is where the nickname comes from. So... Hopefully that clears up any confusion!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please R&R :)


	3. Little Bird Found

Satoru woke with a start when someone rapped smartly on the front door to his quarters. He groaned when he felt the stiffness of his neck, then stumbled out of the armchair he had slept in. His feet dragged reluctantly under him as he shambled out of his son's room and towards the demanding sound. He tapped the small display by the door to grant entrance, and it opened with a soft hiss.

He stared blearily at the captain for a moment, then straightened hastily and saluted. A grin tugged at the man's lips, but he managed to smooth it out at the last second. "At ease, Izumi. You're in your pajamas, for the goddess's sake."

"That I am, sir," he said, somewhat wryly. Captain Amaya Takehiko was, as usual, dressed in the plain gray slacks and long jacket that everyone wore aboard drift. He had no special ornaments or distinguishing badges of rank, and he needed none. Confidence and competence drifted off of him like an exquisite cologne, marking him for what he was. The captain was in his early forties, just a few years older than Satoru. He had a square-shaped face, a firm chin and jaw, a long, crooked nose, and mischievous, shrewd eyes, so pale a blue that they drew the attention of onlookers in a way that made them seem to appear in the distance before the man himself, like twin phantoms. He wore his brown hair short and tidy, most likely due to his old habit of constantly toying with it.

The captain ignored his subtle complaint and glanced past his shoulder. "How is the girl?" he asked. Satoru backed away from the door and motioned the captain in, then closed the portal behind him. He led Takehiko to his son's room, where the two children were sleeping, huddled close to one another in Koushiro's bed.

The captain raised an eyebrow at them, then backed out of the room, settling on the couch in the tiny living area. "Care to explain why she isn't in the sick bay?" he asked, crossing his arms. Satoru sighed and moved into the cramped kitchenette.

"Coffee?" he called, plugging in the machine. The captain snorted.

"Only if you've got rum," he said dryly, "and you know I only drink when I'm Takehiko."

"Of course I have rum." Satoru stood on his tiptoes to reach the bottle propped on top of a cabinet. "You know I only take it that way. I'm the one who gave you a taste for rum and coffee, captain, if you'll recall."

"I don't know, Izumi. That was all so long ago, when I had no gray hairs. It's horrifying how the memories leak out when they grow in. Now, stop tinkering around in there and answer my questions, Red."

Satoru unplugged the machine, pulling the cord harshly in his annoyance. "Don't call me Red. Sir." Takehiko snorted and motioned to the empty cushion beside him, and Satoru sighed and lowered himself onto it. He rubbed his forehead and leaned back. "She's not in the medical ward because she had a violent nervous breakdown whenever my son wasn't close to her. As I'm sure Kido-sensei has told you, she spent all of yesterday heavily sedated, but even that wasn't enough to calm her down if Koushiro wasn't near. And they weren't making any progress, anyway."

The captain frowned deeply. "What in the world are you talking about? Kido's the best doctor I've ever met."

"Agreed," Satoru said, tipping his head respectfully. "But even he can't make progress on a patient who can shield herself such that no one can touch her."

A flicker of surprise and doubt spiked in the captain's eyes, as rare and strange as a unicorn. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, paused, and cleared his throat again. "You don't say. So, the child is Gifted." He tried his best, but his tone wasn't quite as authoritative as usual.

Satoru managed a laugh, if a somewhat dark one. "Oh, that's an understatement, captain. When Koushiro finally managed to convince her to lower her shields so the nurse could take her to the baths, she ghosted naked as far as the physical therapy room a few minutes later, trying to find him. It was something of a shock for the patients."

The captain froze, and he seemed unable to choose between laughing and cursing. Suddenly, Satoru felt just a jot more cheerful. The girl child was much less frustrating when he could pass those troubles on to a higher authority. Still, his gentle personality won out, and he decided to put him somewhat at ease. "She was apprehended in the end and given a grim scrubbing. She was pinker than a baby bird when the nurses were through."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" the captain asked, raising a brow. Satoru smiled in truth this time.

"Well, consider this: you won't have to purchase new sheets for Koushiro."

"Fantastic," Takehiko drawled. He rubbed his temples and crossed his legs at the ankles. "At any rate, we can't turn over a child who can shield and ghost to an orphanage. There's too great a chance that the empire will find her and…" He paused and looked away, and Satoru could see the sudden stiffness of his jaw. "But we're already up to our eyebrows in recalcitrant Gifted orphans. I wish I knew a safe place for her."

A touch of panic ripped through Satoru's body like a violent chill. He had no idea why his son, who was normally quiet and distant to the point of being cold, was showing compassion and kindness to this girl, who still hadn't given anyone her name and who had spent the better part of yesterday alternating between fear, horrified mourning, and rage. But Koushiro had smiled at her, murmured encouragements and condolences, offered up his shoulder for her tears, and led her around Drift with almost humorous formality and care. When Kido Kenichi and a sweet-faced nurse tried to get her settled in a bed in the sick bay for the night, Koushiro heard the sound of her wailing through the heavy doors. The boy sneaked out of their quarters after bedtime and hacked his way through the security measures of the sick bay (much to Satoru's grim amusement, since he had programmed them), freed the girl, then tucked her into his own bed, slipping in beside her and wrapping both arms protectively around her, despite the fact that she was the larger child. Satoru heard the boy leaving and returning, but he allowed his son the illusion of a successful bit of nocturnal espionage and rescue. However, he didn't entirely trust the girl yet, hence his vigil in the armchair and the current sorry state of his neck and upper back.

But he wanted, so very desperately, to trust her. These were the first signs of genuine interest Koushiro had shown in another person since he had lost his arm four years ago. He couldn't abide losing the girl. She was needed here. Satoru took a deep, shaking breath and steeled himself to take a massive risk.

He turned his body towards the captain and looked him in the eye. "I'm willing to become her guardian." Takehiko raised a brow, but didn't look too terribly surprised. Distantly, Satoru wondered if he had guessed his intent. The captain was clever, and they were old friends.

"You don't know anything about her. Hell's bells, you don't even know her name, or if she has surviving relatives somewhere. And what if she turns out to be like the boy we picked up a few weeks ago? Rampaging through the ship, speaking indecipherable street gibberish, hurling fireballs at anything that moves suddenly…" The captain was speaking in a disgusted tone and shaking his head, but his eyes were sparkling. Despite the almost daily grievances he caused, it was clear that Takehiko liked the orphan, admired his head-strong attitude and extreme self assurance.

Both men glanced towards Koushiro's room at the sound of movement. Two pairs of little feet thudded to the floor, and the whisper of the girl's high-pitched, mellifluous voice floated towards them from the open door. Satoru couldn't make out the words, but whatever she said made Koushiro laugh, softly at first, but louder and louder with each moment. Satoru could feel his eyes widening, and Takehiko stared into his face and stroked his chin.

"I see," he said, and he began to stand slowly. "I see." Satoru rose with him automatically, being far too polite and exacting to sit while his superior was standing. The captain made his way to the entrance of the Izumi quarters, but paused before touching the door controls. "I assume this isn't a formal adoption?"

Satoru watched the pair of children stumble sleepily into the living room. One of the girl's hands was wrapped around a rod of Koushiro's prosthetic, and the other was pressed to her mouth, suppressing a huge yawn. There was no squeamishness, no wide-eyed fascination, no disdain on her face. Then her palm slipped down until it was pressed into his robotic one, and those metal fingers wrapped around hers with an easiness that suggested long familiarity. "You're cold," she muttered, and she moved closer to him, as if to warm him.

"I apologize," he murmured. "Would you prefer taking the other side?" The girl shook her head and yawned again, and this time it moved on to Koushiro. They were so engrossed in their simple exchange, so lost in their mutual morning haziness that they hadn't noticed the adults at all, despite the small size of the room.

Satoru returned his attention to his superior and shook his head. "It's better not to go poking around in her official paperwork. We still don't know why the empire attacked her village. For now, we'll just list her as my ward on the Drift crew records."

Takehiko half-smiled, then let himself out. "I hope you know what you're doing," he called as the doors closed. Satoru grinned and shook his head.

_Don't we all?_ he mused. Then he returned his attention to the children, very much hoping that he would at least learn the name of the girl he had just foolishly taken into his care. He cleared his throat, and the pair turned towards the sound. Koushiro paled a little when he made eye contact with him, and Satoru fought down a smile. His boy very, very rarely stepped out of line, and probably had no idea what kind of punishment might await him in retribution for his rescue. Satoru wasn't sure yet, himself. It all depended on what he said, on how he defended himself.

"It's strange," Satoru said, walking towards the kitchenette. He wanted that damned cup of coffee, and his desire for it spiked further still when the girl edged back as he walked past. She did not, however, move far enough away to release his son. "I was under the impression that the young lady was spending the night in the bay."

Koushiro swallowed hard and stared at his toes. Satoru glanced at his boy's bare feet and frowned. The metal floors of the starship were much too cold for that to be comfortable. "Why don't you two take a seat on the couch and help me solve this little mystery. Would you two like a drink?"

His son sighed, then led the girl to the couch. He struggled to get his legs high enough to sit, and the girl hopped up and half lifted him beside her. Then she buried her face in his shoulder, leaving a single eye exposed to watch Satoru as he worked the coffee maker. "Orange juice, please," Koushiro said. He gently nudged the girl, but her only response was to press herself into him even more.

"Right," Satoru said crisply, opening the mini fridge. "Two orange juices." He poured the liquid into two clear glasses, and he took a moment to appreciate the bright, cheerful color before he carried the drinks over to the sofa. Koushiro accepted his with a faint, polite smile, but the girl made no move to take hers. His son sighed, took a sip from his glass, and handed it to her. Then he took the other for himself and drank deeply, downing the whole thing in one go, as was his somewhat peculiar habit. Satoru was convinced that Koushiro could intake fluids continually, all day, if someone kept refilling his glass.

The girl pulled away from Koushiro and blinked, then took a cautious swallow from the glass in her hands. Her eyes widened at the taste, and she licked her lips. "Thank you," she whispered, not looking away from the glass. Satoru fought to keep the shock off of his face. He had seen a lot of orphans coming and going on Drift over the years, and the ones from villages like hers rarely had any manners. Those were a luxury that children with that lifestyle rarely enjoyed. He hastened to enforce the behavior.

"You're most welcome. Please let me know if you'd like more." Her eyes flicked to his face for just a moment, and she nodded. Satoru moved back into the kitchenette, knowing that she was more comfortable when he kept his distance. "Now," he said, reaching into a cabinet for a mug, "you were saying, Koushiro?"

The boy averted his eyes and shifted, creating a perfect picture of guilt, but he wrapped his prosthetic around the girl and pulled her closer. There was a definite protectiveness to the gesture, somehow emphasized by his use of his mechanical limb, which had more strength than the rest of Koushiro's tiny body put together. The boy inhaled deeply, slowly, then looked Satoru in the eye with a rare expression of determination. "Little Bird was upset. They left her alone in the dark, and she couldn't sleep because of the nightmares. I know Kido-sensei gave her sedatives and a drink for dreamless sleep, but it didn't work." Koushiro paused, licked his lips, and held his hands out, as if in apology. "I mean no disrespect. But Little Bird…" He turned to her, and his eyes began to shine with moisture.

She looked up and took a great breath, and something about the largeness of the gesture seemed to suggest that she was focusing all of her faculties on the simple act of breathing. Her frame expanded and deflated a few times, and when she had found some calm, she finally spoke. "Everyone I've ever known in my whole life is dead."

Satoru balanced his mug on the counter before it could slip out of his hands. Of course. It was so easy to forget when you lived on a starship that many people never left their home villages, let alone their home planet. From his perspective, the girl's world was microscopic, but that didn't make her loss any less tragic. The tone of her voice made her suffering quite clear. Satoru closed his eyes, and the sound of it made him imagine plummeting, spread eagle, into a dark, cold body of water, a fall that no one could hope to survive. He shuddered and, with great effort, pulled himself back into reality. His hands were shaking, so he held off on pouring his portion of rum into the coffee.

All at once, Satoru understood Koushiro's attachment to the girl. The two of them were intimately connected by black threads of misery, so hopelessly ensnared in that desperate web that they had no where to turn but to each other. Satoru had escaped the web years ago out of pure obligation and strength of will. Drift and the fledgling rebellion needed him, and, most of all, Koushiro needed him. And so, in a bemused, disoriented manner akin to waking where you had not lain to rest, Satoru tore himself free and flailed his way back into the stride of his life, despite his loss.

But children didn't have the weight of little lives and war efforts on their shoulders. Normally that was all to the good, but obligations were useful when one needed an extra push to overcome an emotional death. Shaking his head, Satoru drank directly from the rum bottle, turning his back on the children for a moment so they wouldn't have a direct view. The familiar, biting burn of the concentrated alcohol coated his throat, providing his mind with a safe, mildly irritating stimulus to distract it from the sudden onslaught of emotions. Then, in a quick, fluid movement, he put the bottle down and pushed it behind the coffee maker. Then he walked back into the living room and took a seat on the couch, ignoring the girl's slight shrinking.

"I know," he said heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Satoru wished that he had something better to say to her, but, unless he was very familiar with the person he was speaking with, he was often awkward even under ideal conditions. And he knew from experience that words were poor consolation in situations of grief. Saying more would have felt false and forced.

Koushiro released a trembling breath and rubbed his temples with his free hand. The other pulled the girl even closer, and she squeaked and hid her face in his neck. "I sneaked into the medical bay and released her, then brought her back here." He paused and pressed his eyes into his palm. "There was hacking involved. Um. Extensively."

Satoru leaned back and watched the boy for a moment. Koushiro had told the truth, which was what he had been hoping to hear, and that put him at ease. But there was still something strange here. "You haven't apologized," he said slowly, stroking his chin. His fingers rasped against the hair that had grown since yesterday morning.

"No," Koushiro answered, glancing at the girl squeezed up against him. "No." A thin tear streaked down his cheek. "Because I would do it again." His tone was apologetic but firm, troubled but decided.

Satoru felt his eyes widening, and he hastened to hide his reaction. This was… this was entirely unexplored territory. To think that his son would knowingly reject behaviors that he knew he was required to uphold for this strange, disturbed girl… Satoru closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and he identified the stirring, rising feeling in his gut as hope.

He put a hand on Koushiro's knee and waited until his son looked him in the eye. "In the future," he said, pinning the boy down with a look that made his seriousness perfectly clear, "if you ever suspect that a crew member is in distress and in need of aid, come to me first. I promise we'll address the issue right away, in a less…clandestine manner. Do I make myself clear?"

Koushiro's eyes widened slightly, and Satoru could practically feel his son wondering why he hadn't done just that. But it was for the best that he had; Satoru was certain that the rescue would stand out in the girl's memory in days to come, would cement her trust in Koushiro. The boy nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent." Satoru crossed his arms and leaned back in the couch, fixing his boy with a hard stare. "And now, about your punishment." At this point, the girl squeaked and threw herself across Koushiro's lap, moving closer to Satoru voluntarily for the first time.

This afforded Satoru with his first clear view of her upturned face. His first impression was of a fawn or filly, owing almost entirely to her huge, dark brown eyes. He blinked and fought not to lean closer under their influence. They were enormous, round, and framed with decadently long, black eyelashes. Satoru felt a huge surge of pity for any and all potential suitors in her future. He wasn't sure he would be able to resist giving in to whatever she wanted if she worked those eyes just right, and she would never have any romantic pull over him. Giving himself a slight shake, Satoru shifted his eyes away from hers and took in her round face and nose, very plain features, though certainly not bad ones. Her lips, however, proved to be another charming point. The lower one was full and plump, but the upper one was so small that it almost looked like a tiny triangle pressed up against a rich curve. This lent her an adorable pout and a sweet, unassuming neutral expression. Her brow was slightly arched, accenting and calling attention to her eyes. Her dark brown hair was an endless tangle at the moment, but it appeared to be healthy and soft. Overall, she was easy enough to overlook unless she caught your eyes with hers, but, if time was kind to her and her face thinned and balanced… Ah, then she might cause some minor devastation.

But, for now, she was scowling up at him and looking remarkably bossy. "You can't!" she cried, and Satoru felt his brow jump up. He had no experience with children who talked back, and he glanced past the girl to see Koushiro grimacing delicately. His son placed a hand on her shoulder and tugged gently, but she ignored him. "You can't punish Kou-chan for saving me! If you gotta punish someone, it had oughtta be me."

Satoru's first reaction was to fight down a groan. The girl had traces of a repulsive street dialect, adding a harsh twang to her sweet voice. He would have to do his best to cure her of it, or else no one would take her seriously aboard Drift. Then his mind skipped from that point to the next one, which was the incredibly cutesy nickname she had already graced his son with. His eyes twitched to Koushiro's, and the boy smiled awkwardly and shrugged, keeping most of his attention focused on his failing attempt to reign the girl in. Finally, his mind settled on her spirit, and on her automatic defense of his son. That was very, very interesting.

Satoru slowly moved his hand towards the crown of her head, and she flinched. But Koushiro held her in place by her shoulders, and she relaxed by degrees and watched him inch closer with all the blatant distrust of a skittish dog. Finally, Satoru stroked her messy hair, and she stiffened again at his touch, but tolerated it. "I'm afraid there's no way around it," Satoru said gently, and she stared up at him and produced a faint growling sound. "You see," he continued, ignoring her, "I've just become your guardian, so you'll be sharing our living space from now own. That means there are going to have to be some compromises, mostly on Koushiro's part, since he has made it clear that he places your well-being above abiding by Drift codes of conduct." Satoru tried his best to sound firm, but he couldn't keep the mischievous smile off his face. Koushiro gawked at him, but the girl tilted her head like a puppy, and it seemed that she wasn't quite following.

"Little Bird is going to live with us?" he asked, and his hands slipped from the girl's shoulders. She gasped and whirled around to face him, then turned immediately back to look at Satoru. She moved so quickly that she lost her balance and began to flail, and he and Koushiro grabbed her at the same moment, holding her steady.

"Yes," Satoru answered, watching each little face carefully. Judging by his large eyes and the slight paling of his skin, Koushiro was surprised. The girl had a sudden yearning expression, as if she wanted to believe that he was telling the truth, but did not trust him. Her rear began to shake back and forth slightly, almost like a happy dog's. "Why don't you sit properly again before you fall, young lady," Satoru said, and Koushiro nodded and pulled her back into a sitting position beside him, paying no mind to her wiggling posterior.

Once she was settled, Satoru crossed his arms and stared down at her. "And since we're going to be spending a lot of time together from now on, I should very much like to learn your name, little miss." It seemed like a perfectly natural expectation to him, but the girl paled and took hold of Koushiro again. Satoru took a deep breath, trying to steel his patience, reminding himself that the girl had just lost everything and may very well not be thinking properly.

"As I said yesterday, my name is Izumi Satoru. And, of course, you know my son, Izumi Koushiro. It's customary to give your name when someone else provides theirs." A thought occurred to him, and he frowned and tipped his head. "It, it isn't 'Little Bird,' is it?" That would be unfortunate, although it might explain why she had come with them. He had never met someone with a name remotely like that before.

"No!" she said, and that bossy tone was back in full force. "You know it's not Little Bird. That's just the code." His confusion must have shown on his face, because she stuttered and pulled back, fixing them both with a baffled look. "You… Don'cha know what I'm talking about?" Koushiro shook his head, and the girl's eyes grew so large that they seemed to overtake her entire face. She went from ghostly pale, even paler than Koushiro, which didn't seem possible, to milk white, and her tiny chest began to heave. Satoru half-stood as signs of hyperventilation began to grow more and more evident, but his son moved faster.

He gently pushed on her back, and she moved instinctively with his touch. "Put your head down," he murmured, "and breathe deeply and slowly. You're alright. I'm here with you."

The girl followed his quiet instructions until her fit reduced to rapid shaking. Then she lifted her eyes, and they were faintly luminous with a layer of moisture. "You're… You're not from my uncle, are you."

"I'm afraid not," Satoru answered, wishing he understood the significance of that. She shut her eyes tightly and placed her palms against the sides of her head, trembling fiercely.

"Can I lay down again?" she whispered to Koushiro. His son glanced at him for permission, and he nodded slightly.

"Once I have your name, you can go back to bed, sweetheart," Satoru said. A worried, depressed feeling dripped into the core of his stomach. He had hoped that she would be able to start her life on Drift today, but it was clear that she needed more time to herself first. Of course, he had been far too optimistic. She needed time to come to terms with what had happened to her, time to heal, time to lose her fear of her new environment and its large crew of strangers.

The girl's blanched skin went gray. "Names have power," she whispered. "I'm not supposed to tell people."

Satoru clenched his teeth, cursing the superstitious nature of simple villagers. "You should be fine. After all, you have our names as collateral." Belatedly, he realized that he couldn't use the same language with her that he used with his son, but she was tilting her head in consideration, so perhaps she had gotten the gist of what he had said.

She sighed and squared her shoulders, leaning into Koushiro and taking his hand. "My name is Eimi." Satoru nodded, grateful to hear something so normal. Then he tilted his head and waited for the rest, but there was a long pause, and she gave no new information.

"And your family name?" he prompted at last. Her eyes misted over instantly, and he cursed himself for his lack of tact.

"That doesn't matter anymore," she whispered. And then she hid her face in her hands and began to bawl. Sighing, and squirming slightly under Koushiro's oddly accusing stare, Satoru stood and backed away, allowing Koushiro to usher Eimi off of the couch and back into his bedroom.

He stood there for a long moment, frozen and unsure of what to do. Then he wandered back into the kitchen and poured himself some rum, swirling the glass thoughtfully as he drank. "Misaki," he whispered into his glass. "Ah, Misaki. If only…" But he closed his eyes and cut those thoughts off. Wishes wouldn't bring his wife back, wouldn't rain her guidance and wisdom down on him from across the breach between life and death.

No matter how much he wanted them to.


	4. Twin Hurts

**Author's Note: **Those of you who read Four Years may be surprised by the fact that I'm actually offering you some information here, lol! Happy reading.

Satoru sat up straight in his chair, correcting his typical slumped posture. He suppressed a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling kinks and aches from sleeping in a chair. His eyes slipped across the bridge as he shook out his shoulders. As usual, it was abuzz with activity, and his team of analysts, computer experts, and intelligence professionals was assembled around him, all staring into the glow of their twin monitors. His team was clustered on the captain's left, assuming Takehiko was seated in front of the main monitor, and the other side of the bridge was given up to the pilot, navigator, and the crew members monitoring Drift's condition and standing by to work its weapons.

He stared to his left, looking at his son. They had left Eimi in Koushiro's bedroom about an hour ago. He would have preferred leaving her in the sick bay, or dropping her off with another adult, but she had been crying and staring at the wall, and Koushiro insisted that she wanted to stay there. As much as he hesitated to defer to a seven year old for what was essentially parenting advice, his son was the only one who had access to Eimi's thoughts and desires, so he reluctantly relented.

But Satoru was worried about her, and, judging by the way Koushiro stared at his monitors with his hands glued, unmoving, to his keyboard, so was he. Despite everything, a small smile played at his lips when he considered that Koushiro had finally found something that called him more strongly than his work on the bridge. He stood and put his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Why don't you spend the day with our little miss?" he asked. "I really don't like the thought of her being alone in her state, and I sense that you don't, either." Koushiro craned his neck, trying to get a view of his face, and Satoru released him so that he could turn his chair to face him.

Koushiro's eyes widened slightly, and he edged closer to his father, but his brows remained pressed down. "I want to," he admitted, and his eyes fell from Satoru's, as if he had just said something embarrassing. "But... I have my duties here..."

Satoru fought down a sigh of relief, very glad to find that Koushiro's objection was something so simple. "You're seven, Koushiro," he said gently, kneeling so that he could speak quietly by his son's ear. Some of his teammates were glancing curiously in their direction, and he didn't want their bit of family drama to become a source of lunchtime gossip. "You're allowed to engage in activities other than work. In fact, it's encouraged." He tugged gently on his son's thin shoulders, half pulling him out of his seat. "Now, go make sure she's alright, and bring her something from the mess hall, alright?" It would seem strange to most adults, Satoru knew, to send a child to care for another child, but his son was mature and capable. And, anyway, Eimi didn't trust adults at the moment. She would be most comfortable with Koushiro.

Koushiro stared at him, his mouth opened slightly. He kept glancing between Satoru's face and the walkway leading to the stairs that would take him off of the bridge, as if he didn't quite believe that he could be allowed a reprieve from work. "I'm not sure if she'll eat it," he said at last, frowning and pressing a hand to his chin. "She wouldn't take anything earlier."

Satoru patted his head and did his best to smile reassuringly. "It's okay to be a little forceful when you're looking after someone," he said softly. "Make sure she gets something to eat, and plenty to drink. She needs lots of water, especially if she's been crying. This is how you can best serve Drift today. Do you understand?"

Koushiro nodded slowly, and Satoru turned him around by the shoulders and gave him a gentle push towards the walkway. His boy glanced back at him hesitantly, then squared his shoulders and moved away from him.

Satoru looked at his receding back and smiled.

Izumi Quarters

Koushiro knocked gently on his bedroom door, but there was no answer. He opened the door quietly, then stuck his head into the room. Eimi was still curled up on his bed and staring blankly at the wall, exactly as he had left her. He frowned and stepped inside.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving to the bed. Her body jerked, and she rolled over to face him.

"Kou-chan!" she cried, scrambling into a sitting position. "I didn't notice ya. Sorry." Koushiro nodded and sat down next to her on his bed. He took a good look at her face, and saw that her eyes were rimmed with red, and surrounded by tiny lines that usually came with age. There were faint, shining streaks on her cheeks.

Frowning, he grabbed her hand and tugged, and she jumped down from the bed, following him obediently. His brow rose slightly at her acquiescence; given the distressingly forceful way she had spoken to his father earlier this morning, he had expected much more of a fight.

"I thought ya had stuff to do," she said, crowding his back as he led her into the kitchenette.

He grunted and knelt in front of the mini fridge, which was placed directly on the floor for his convenience. He wrapped his prosthetic hand around a jug of milk, lifting it with an ease well beyond his natural abilities. "I was relieved. Today, my directive is to take care of you."

Eimi squeezed his hand and sighed. "I'm sorry. Ya don't hafta take care of me. I can take care of myself. I bet your other stuff is more fun."

"Please don't say 'stuff,'" Koushiro said as he opened a cabinet. There were a few plates and cups in the lower cabinets for him to use when his father was elsewhere. He was too short to reach the rest of them. He picked up a plate and a cup, and handed them off to Eimi, who stared at them a little blankly. "It's nonspecific. Clear communication is imperative. It can be a matter of life or death."

"Why're ya bossin' me, all of a sudden?" she asked, frowning. Koushiro picked the milk back up and led the way to the couch, relieved that she was still following him.

"I'm not trying to boss you around," he said, and a faint, foreign sensation of annoyance began to build up inside of him. "I'm trying to teach you. You're going to live on Drift now, so there's a lot that you'll need to learn." He poured her a glass of milk, then put the muffin and orange he had taken from the mess hall on the plate. "Please, eat that. I can assure you that the taste is pleasing."

"Don't want it," Eimi said, placing a hand on her stomach. "I feel all squishy inside." Koushiro sighed as he watched her eyes water and her chin begin to quiver. Her depression was perfectly understandable, but he was beginning to feel powerless with his inability to cheer her. He scooted closer to her and put his arm around her waist, hoping to offer support.

"I know," he whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. She sniffed and tilted her head so that it rested against his. Her body was warm, and she still smelled faintly like dusty, parched earth and adobe. "But you'll grow weak if you don't eat, and then you'll feel worse. You don't want to grow ill and have to spend the night in the sick bay, do you?" He hated to threaten her, but convincing her to eat was important.

Her body trembled violently, and she slid away from him, reaching for the muffin. "Naw. I wanna stay with ya. But if I barf, it's your fault, innit?"

Koushiro grimaced at her back, and was suddenly grateful that she could not see his expression at the moment. "Don't say 'innit,' please."

Eimi was frowning when she turned around to face him, pastry in hand. "Why the hell not?" she asked, raising a brow at him and sinking her teeth into the head of the muffin.

A jolt of shock ran through Koushiro, and he slapped his forehead forcefully. "No, no, no. Don't curse, Eimi-san, please."

"Whaaaaaat?" she cried through a mouthful of muffin, scowling full out. Koushiro sighed and brushed scattered, wet crumbs off of his uniform jacket. "That's how my cousin talks. And there's not even luckies around to hear it and get all scoldy, so what's the twist? And oi, don't use 'san' with me."

Koushiro pressed a hand to his chin and stared at her for a long moment. So far, Eimi hadn't been feeling well enough to speak much, and he was a little shocked now that she was talking. She was so… wild, uncultured. It was strange; when he first met her, he was sure that he sensed gentleness, kindness, and vulnerability in her, even as she trembled and pointed a gun at him. And there had been something very sweet and trusting in the way she had clung to him the day before and last night. Her need of him had made him feel capable and important, had made him care about her. He couldn't understand the motivation for her sudden change.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus back in on their conversation. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but we discourage foul language in this family. And what, pray, is a 'lucky'?"

Thankfully, she swallowed this time before she started talking. "Yanno. A grown-up."

His brow rose with honest curiosity. "Oh? Why call an adult a lucky?"

She tossed her head and bared her teeth. "Coz they lived long enough to grow up, hey?" Her tone was aggressive, almost welcoming him to comment on how different their worlds were, and she suddenly reminded Koushiro, almost forcibly, of another orphan aboard Drift, a boy who used brashness as weapon, a way to look stronger and more capable than he was.

And, suddenly, he understood. There was a tight, throbbing pain in his chest as he recognized her fear. "You know... You don't have to pretend with me. I know how hard it is, being alone, being miserable, wishing someone you loved was still here. Being frightened. But you aren't alone, and there's nothing to fear from myself and my father. I don't want there to be fronts between us. Please... Just behave naturally around me. I want to be your friend. After all, we're family now."

Eimi's edged away from him, blinking rapidly, and reached desperately for her cup of milk, drinking deeply, as if to clear her throat with the liquid, or perhaps to stall for time. After a long draught, she swallowed noisily and sat the cup back down. "I, I... How'd ya...?" She drew her legs up to her chest and began to sway slightly on the couch, and Koushiro inched closer, putting his arm around her shoulder.

"Your attitude changed severely after our conversation this morning. After you discovered that we have nothing to do with your uncle, you began to act tough and callous. Clearly, you're imitating someone that you find capable, or trying to mask your fear." He gently applied pressure on her shoulders until she leaned forward, and then he stroked her back soothingly, the way his mother used to stroke his when he was upset. "I wish I could convince you that we mean you no harm. I know this is a strange environment for you, but you'll grow accustomed to it, and I'm sure you'll be happy here."

"Are ya happy here?" she whispered. Koushiro's hand froze in its rounds over her back, and he cleared his throat. She averted her eyes and sighed, then rested her face against her knees, hiding it from view.

"I have no objection with Drift itself," he said hastily, realizing that he had flubbed an opportunity to put her at ease. "My duties on the bridge are fascinating, and I enjoy spending time in the viewing room. But... My life has been... I..." He could feel his body beginning to shake slightly, and, for once, he didn't bother hiding it. Eimi was broken. He was broken. There was no need to dissemble around her. She would understand, or could come to understand.

Eimi sat up and looked at him for a long moment. "Where's your ma?" she asked gently. He gasped and paled. Somehow, in just three words, she had cut down to the core of his misery, working her way through layers of ice and facades and straight into the writhing pain in his heart. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her. She smiled slightly, regretfully, and her tiny hand, so pale that it seemed to glow faintly, made its tender way through his hair, stroking his scalp soothingly. His body shuddered at the touch. The tiny, circular motions of her fingertips sent shivering, relieving sensations through his body.

Being touched so tenderly, being spoken with concern by a soft, feminine voice… Koushiro realized all at once how much he had missed this. He loved his father. His father gladly taught him everything he knew, he was rational and patient, open minded and flexible. He knew when to be firm and when to yield, and he allowed Koushiro his privacy, and all the freedom and encouragement he needed to slowly become whatever he desired. Furthermore, Koushiro could sense his father's love and concern for him. But his mother had been the warm one, the one who had held him and listened to the whispered hurts of childhood, the one who thought of little treats for him and sang him off-key lullabies. Although he didn't really understand it, this trading of physical comforts with Eimi was feeding a desperate need within him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and clung to her instinctively.

"She died," he whispered. Then he swallowed, and his brow drew down firmly. He shifted his prosthetic so that it was in between Eimi's body and the rest of the world, despite the lack of immediate threats. "No. She was killed... by imperial forces."

Eimi's fingers stiffened against his scalp. "I'm sorry, Kou-chan," she whispered, and she sounded as lost as he felt. Koushiro settled his robotic arm around her waist in response, squeezing gently. He never did know what to say when he received condolences. "Was… Was your village attacked, like mine?"

He breathed in deeply a few times before he answered. "I never lived in a village. I was born aboard Drift. A few years ago, we landed in a city for supplies, and the empire was waiting for us. We suspect that there was betrayal involved." He closed his eyes and gently rubbed the outside of his lids, but it did nothing to banish the surprisingly clear images forming in his mind. "We were attacked. We lost quite a few people."

"D'ya… D'ya wanna talk about it, Kou-chan?" Eimi asked, resuming her scalp massage. He shook his head violently, accidentally knocking her hand away.

"No. I'm sorry, but… No." That was the last thing he wanted to do. Someday, he would have to tell her, since that day was such a key moment in his life. But, today he didn't have the strength.

"Okay," she replied softly. Eimi squeezed him, broke away from him, and reached for her orange. She pulled the fruit close to her face and tilted it about, frowning at it. "How'm I supposed to be eatin' this, then?" she asked, digging her fingernails into the peel. Koushiro swallowed his questions about how she could possibly not know what an orange was and began to peel it, forcing his clever fingers under the rind and pulling it away from the fruit inside. Once that was done, he sat the fruit on the plate, pulled it apart into pieces, and handed it to her, taking two slices for himself. Eimi picked one up, popped it in her mouth, and began to chew.

"Tastes like that juice from earlier," she said after she had swallowed. "But… I don't really like the flesh." She picked up the next piece and sucked on it, removing all of the juice, then sat the shriveled, whitish remains back on the plate. Koushiro stared at her, trying his best not to react with disgust.

"You… You're vampirizing an orange."

"Vampi-what?" Eimi asked, arching a brow and reaching for another slice.

Koushiro shook his head. "Uh, nevermind."

Eimi licked her fingertips and smiled, and Koushiro suddenly realized that she had sensed his unhappiness and changed the subject to something safer. He stared as she continued to work the juice out of defenseless hunks of orange, slowly realizing that there may be more to Eimi than met the eyes.

Although it seemed unfair to ask her questions after she had allowed him to gloss over the story of his mother's death, Koushiro was suddenly eager to learn more about her. He cleared his throat awkwardly and forced the question out before he could change his mind, and the words ran together in a tumbling rush. "Do you mind if I ask you why you thought we were involved with your uncle?"

Eimi shifted uncomfortably and pushed the plate further away on the coffee table. "Ya said the code words."

"You mentioned that," Koushiro reminded her gently. "What I'm wondering is, why did your uncle create a code word for you in the first place?"

"Oh," she said quietly. She grabbed her arm and began to run her hand up and down its length. "Coz he knew they were coming. The bad men and their monsters. Yanno, the empire soldiers."

Koushiro stared, wide eyed. The empire did not make a habit of announcing their... visits. It was very possible that this story could have overtones that might be beyond his grasp. His father would want to hear this, first hand. "Eimi-san-"

"'Chan'," she corrected, her tone inching on bossy. "No one uses 'san' with me. Or just call me by name. Ya said we're family, didn'cha?"

Koushiro scowled, despite his best efforts to remain polite and kind. He couldn't deny that she was starting to dig at his nerves, and the sensation was completely foreign to him. His emotional palette usually included placid, melancholy, and depression, with no other shades. He had only known Eimi for two days, and she was already forcing him to feel other ones. Annoyance, impatience, commiseration, compassion, amusement, affection... It was beginning to overwhelm him.

"I prefer to address people politely," he explained, steeling himself with a deep breath. Eimi crossed her arms, drew herself up, and stared imperiously down at him.

"Well, I don't wanna be talked at like I'm some boring adult. And what's so polite about callin' someone somethin' they don't wanna be called, hey?"

He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it with a faint snap. She had a point, and Koushiro pressed a hand to his chin. His understanding of her kept shifting with every exchange, until he simply didn't know what to think. Her ignorance had made her appear dull and unintelligent, but there was definite wit buried within her, even if she lacked a firm enough hold on language to express it well. But if someone bothered to teach her... Then it might be a true pleasure to talk to her, almost a game. He felt his interest sharpen, and he looked into her eyes. Something about the way she met his glance spoke of confidence, made it perfectly clear that she was aware that she was right.

"Very well," he allowed, holding his hands out. "I concede. Eimi-chan, do you mind if my father listens to our conversation? As the head of our family, he should know this information." At first, Eimi was smiling, clearly pleased with her victory, but it fled as she processed his request.

"I... I dunno, Kou-chan. Don't be mad, but..." she made an awkward hedging sound and tilted her head.

"You don't trust him." Koushiro raised a brow, and she sighed and nodded. "Do you trust me?" he asked. She stared at him for a moment, and then her eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes," she breathed, taking hold of his arm. She rested her head on his shoulder. "My cousin would go all snarly at me if he heard that. Ya gotta be shifty-like to survive." There was a slight pause as she chewed her lower lip. "And I guess that reminds me… Thanks for savin' me last night. Will ya really get in trouble?"

"You're welcome," he said gently. "I couldn't leave you there. Being afraid and alone... No one should have to feel that way." He cleared his throat awkwardly, then put his hand on her far shoulder. "I'm not actually in trouble. I just have to share my room with you until we can manage more appropriate accommodations." Well, that was his 'punishment' from his father. But because he had attacked Drift security, he was being disciplined formally, as well. Since he had torn apart his father's security measures, he had been tasked with giving them an overhaul. However, Eimi would have no idea what he was talking about, so he didn't bring it up.

Her brow creased. "Whaddya mean? That was really _your_ room? We don't have that at all in my village, just a place to cook and a room in the middle and cots at nighttime. Well, I had a hammock. I didn't get a cot. But I like the hammock better anyway," she added hastily, coloring slightly.

Koushiro fought down a shudder. Despite the fact that he respected and liked his father, his privacy was of paramount importance to him. He couldn't stomach the thought of essentially never having any, and was already feeling a little worried about having to share his personal space with Eimi. And what was he supposed to make of the hammock detail? It almost sounded as if Eimi was indicating that her family had a habit of slighting her. He suddenly wished he were an adult. Being a child didn't inhibit him when it came to handling data and working on the computer, not with his mental skills. But when the human element was thrown into the equation, he found that he lacked the experience and social awareness to reach conclusions with his normal confidence and accuracy. Although he wasn't really sure how much growing up would help; his father still showed signs of having the same difficulties.

"Yes, yes," he said distractedly. "It's my room. Our room. That's not relevant at the moment. What I was trying to say is that, A, you trust me. B, I trust my father. And, therefore, C, you should feel confident trusting my father with my recommendation. He really is a good person."

"Eeh? Bee? Sea?" Koushiro gave her a puzzled frown, unable to discern why she was repeating letters at him. She returned his blank stare for a moment, then huffed. "Oh, alright. If ya say your da should hear this, then fine. But...isn't he doing grown-up stuff?" Koushiro scowled, and she grimaced, hastening to backtrack. "Sorry. Isn't he on the, uh, bridge?"

Koushiro felt his eyebrows rising. He was impressed that she remembered the word, although he wasn't convinced that she actually knew what it meant. With any luck, she would feel well enough leave their quarters soon, and he could give her a tour so she could learn what all of the different rooms were called. "Yes, he's working on the bridge. That's the command center of the ship." He paused and lifted his prosthetic, turning it so that the inside of the forearm was facing Eimi. The small computer that he often attached to it during the day winked up at her with the reflection of the overhead lights. The computer wasn't all that powerful, since the entire circuit board was limited to a squished space behind a small screen, but it was sufficient for the task at hand. "He'll be able to hear us through this."

Eimi's pale, pink lips popped apart. "Whaaaat," she cried, edging away slightly, but Koushiro kept a firm grip on her shoulders, and she didn't struggle enough to break it, although she probably could have if she chose to. "I can't-but-augh!" Her hands flew to her face, blocking it from view, and Koushiro realized that this latest novelty was one bit of strangeness too many for her. Indoor plumbing, helicopters, computers, electric lights, doors that moved apparently of their own free will... It was all new and frightening to her. Koushiro made a soothing, cooing sound, the kind the nurses used when children received their vaccinations, and waited for her panic to subside, gently patting her far shoulder all the while.

Eventually, her body relaxed a little. "If ya wanna contact someone," she said at length, breathing slowly, "ya have the scribe take a letter, don'cha?"

"Scribe?" Koushiro repeated. A piece of knowledge, horrifying and terrible, clicked together in his mind, and it took him a moment to even begin to comprehend it. Eimi couldn't read. Illiteracy was the norm where she came from. His body shuddered, and Eimi lowered her hands enough to peek at him with one eye.

"N-no," he said slowly, forcing himself not to comment on her inability to read. She would never be able to join the classes on Drift. She was too miserably far behind. "No. We have faster modes of communication. Here, allow me to show you."

He input the command to start a phone call with his father. A moment later, his father's voice issued from the speaker on the back of the computer, sounding faintly concerned. "Koushiro," he said, and Eimi paled and gawked at the screen, "what's the matter? Is everything alright with Eimi-chan?"

"Hello. Everything's fine. I was just having a discussion with Eimi-chan that I thought you might be interested in hearing... About her uncle." He glanced at Eimi and saw that she was worrying her lower lip with her front teeth. Her arms slipped around his waist, and he did his best to smile reassuringly.

"I... I see. Just let me put my headphones in. I don't want to distract my team. Koushiro, if I have any questions, I'll send them via text, so please keep an eye on your monitor."

"Acknowledged." Koushiro wasn't entirely sure why his father wanted to keep this discussion so private, but he trusted his judgment, so he made no comment. He waited for confirmation that his father was ready, then smiled at Eimi. "Eimi-chan, you mentioned that your uncle knew the empire was sending people to your village. Can you tell me how?"

She fixed her eyes on his and worked her mouth for a moment, then sighed and looked away, staring into space. "Coz my da was in contact with them," she said, speaking in a strangely hollow voice. Her shoulders slumped below his arm, and she squished herself even closer to him, so that they were pressed almost painfully close together. "He told 'em to come."

His heart missed a beat, and it caused a faint, momentary pain in his chest. "W-w-why would _anyone_ do that?" Koushiro sputtered. Inviting the empire to your home was the simplest recipe for disaster Koushiro had ever heard of. He wanted to say more, but a message appeared on the screen, distracting him. _Something's wrong_, it said. _Please, speak more gently. She's upset, and I need to hear this._

Eimi's hands formed tiny fists, wrinkling the fabric of his uniform jacket. Her body began to tremble slightly, and she buried her face in his neck. "Coz…coz he wanted to sell me to them. The empire, or whatever. The bad people."

There was a long, astonished pause. Koushiro had no idea what to say. Really, what could anyone say to that? He pulled her in even more, as if he were trying to permanently squish them together. Then, slowly, the shock wore off, and he began to feel a hot, churning sensation in his gut. It took a moment for him to identify it as seething anger towards this father of hers. His teeth began to gnash together, and the sound startled him for a moment. His eyes jumped about the tiny living room and kitchenette, as if searching for a target to vent his ire upon, but violence was not in his nature, and he didn't know what to do with this frightening emotion. Then a flashing from his arm had him glancing down, and he was grateful for the distraction his father provided. _Ask her if she knows why_, the monitor read. _Please try to say it nicely, although I've no idea how one would manage that._

_Neither do I_, Koushiro thought miserably. He did what he could to still his frothing interior state, then moved his arm and stroked the side of her face that wasn't pressed into his neck. "I'm sorry, Eimi-chan. I'm really sorry." If he didn't know that he was the one speaking, he wouldn't have recognized his own voice. It was heavy and low, strained and thick. Eimi nodded slowly, and Koushiro's fingers encountered hot moisture. "But... It's important for me to ask if you know why your father would do that."

Eimi produced a disgusting, wet sniffing sound, but Koushiro couldn't blame her, and he found himself surprisingly indifferent to being covered in her snot and tears. She made a tiny, mewling sound and cleared her throat. "He…he used to say it a lot, yanno, that he would sell me to the bad people coz I cost money to feed. But I did all my chores," she said defensively. Koushiro swallowed hard and fought down tears of his own. He didn't entirely understand it, but her need to point out that she earned her keep hurt him. Had her father really taught her that being clothed and fed came at a price? Did she really think she had to earn her place in a family unit? And if those basic needs were given begrudgingly, then what were the odds that she had been loved?

But she was still talking, so he did his best to clear out those thoughts and attend. "Anyway, I guess he said it coz, yanno, I have Gift, and I guess the empire likes Gift? I dunno. But he never really meant it till one day, when he said I was a..." She frowned and tilted her head. "I dunno, it was a word I didn't know, I thiiiink it started with a rrrrr sound." Koushiro could practically hear his father slapping his palm against his forehead, but he didn't have that luxury, not when he was holding on to a miserable little girl.

"But whatever it was, it meant he could get lotsa money, so... So he went to the scribe and sent a letter. And the scribe, he was nice, he talked to my ma, he did, and told her about my da's plan to sell me. So she sent a letter to my uncle, who is her brother, yanno."

She paused and stared at him, and the wide set of her eyes and the drooping of her eyebrows reminded him of a lost puppy. Koushiro knew she wouldn't be able to go on without some prodding, but he was too horrified by what he was hearing to piece together a sensible question. He glanced desperately at his monitor, and was relieved to see a prompt from his father. _What did her uncle do?_

Koushiro repeated the question aloud, and Eimi wiped her eyes and nodded. "Uh, he told my ma to send me to his village. It takes a whole day by horse. I like horses. They smell nice, well, except when they, yanno, then they smell real bad."

_She's trying to redirect the conversation. Get her back on track._

Koushiro did his best not to shift uncomfortably, knowing that Eimi wouldn't understand the body motion. He was beginning to feel like a pest, asking her to talk about this. But, at the same time, he couldn't deny that he wanted to know what happened next, even as his heart sank at the prospect of hearing even worse things. "Did your father allow you to go?" Koushiro asked.

"He didn't know that my ma knew about selling me. The scribe kept things hush. It takes a long time for a letter to go and come back, especially going far, so I don't think he cared as long as I was back by whenever they were supposed to come."

"What did you do with your uncle? He made some kind of plan, correct?"

"He taught me stuff. I mean, uh, he showed me all the guns ya find in our villages, and taught me how many bullets they can hold, and taught me to count bullets, even when lotsa stuff is going on. Even when people are shooting and making noise, I mean. He said that, if beasts come, ya hide under corpses, since they don't like corpses. Uh, and he taught me how to fight with my cousin, my cousin has Gift too, and we worked on using our Gifts. We worked a lot. It was hard. Taichi plays rough."

"Taichi-san?" Koushiro echoed incredulously, but a message from the screen had him backtracking. _You can ask about that later. Stay focused._

Reluctantly, Koushiro swallowed his questions about this cousin Taichi of hers. "What about the code? Little Bird?"

Eimi nodded slowly. "After a month or so, I guess, my da came to get me himself. Before I left, my uncle told me that he didn't know if he would be able to be there in person to get me out of my village. He said that if he couldn't be there himself, I was supposed to trust anyone who called me Little Bird, because they came from him, and would take care of me. And he said, no matter what, that I wasn't supposed to let the empire take me… Even if they said they would hurt people if I didn't go. He said everything they say is a lie."

"He spoke true," Koushiro whispered. And what was just as frightening as the empire's duplicity was the thought that her uncle obviously prioritized her safety above that of her entire village's, including his sister's. Logically, that meant that whatever power Eimi had, whatever it was that her father had discovered about her, it was dangerous enough that it was worth potentially sacrificing everyone in her village to keep her out of the empire's hands. He licked his lips nervously, then frowned and furrowed his brow. No. _No_. He would _not _fear the trembling girl pressed up against him. He refused to.

"So…what happened when they arrived?" he prompted. Eimi's chest heaved a few times, and fresh tears wet his neck.

"The soldiers came and asked for me. My da grabbed me and wanted to know where the money was, but they didn't bring the money, did they," she said bitterly. "Naw. They just stuck a gun in his face and grabbed me, but I ghosted, like my uncle said, and I ran, and then the guns went off and then they let the beasts go and then- And then everyone started falling." She tried to pull away, but Koushiro held on to her, refusing to let her slip beyond the safety of his arms. The burning sensation that had been plaguing his eyes seemed to swell up and outward, and tears began to drip down his face. Heat swept over his skin, and he felt so very sick. Although he was very young when he saw imperial forces unleash their beasts firsthand, he remembered it with startling clarity, and Eimi's words made the memories rush to the fore of his mind.

"So I guess it's my fault. If I hadn't run… But I promised. I can't break a promise. My uncle said they would make me a weapon. I don't know what he meant, but I couldn't, I couldn't- I was so scared- They shot my da, they blew his head off, but he asked for it, didn't he? But then- my brother- my _ma_-" Eimi began to babble, but her fractured words rapidly disintegrated into incoherent sounds that morphed into anguished, keening sobs.

_She's breaking down. I'll be right there. Try to console her. We might have to take her to the sick bay. Tell her it isn't her fault. _There was a pause, and the previous message disappeared as the new one formed. _It isn't. Don't think for a moment that it's her fault, Koushiro._

_I know that_, Koushiro thought fiercely. He comforted her as best as he could, and she threw herself onto him. She was bigger than him, so he was forced to lay beneath her on the couch. One of her arms wrapped around his waist, forming an uncomfortable lump between his back and the cushion. Her other hand clung to a rod in his prosthetic, sliding down the smooth metallic surface. Koushiro gently pried her fingers free and pressed her hand to his cheek, then circled her trembling body with his arms. He was feeling more than a little squished beneath her, but he didn't complain.

Whatever small comfort he could offer her was hers for the taking.

**Author's Note: **Oi, I am so tired of chapters where all that happens is TALKING. Which is why next chapter will have ACTION! (Okay and also some talking, but also ACTION!) I originally planned to introduce some more of the chosen children this chapter (you can probably guess who), but then all the TALKING happened, and I realized I had a few thousand words! So yeah.

Fairly sure this is kind of a weak chapter, comparatively… What do you think? I had a really hard time writing it, it's difficult to keep a conversation moving for so long. Also, ugh, I probably screwed up Eimi's dialect fifty times, I can't wait until she loses her accent, because I fail at keeping it consistent (it will happen soon). Please let me know if you noticed any inconsistencies, I am not offended to be corrected, I'm sure I missed some, I've been so tired lately…

Teasers for next chapter: Meeting more chosen children! Learning to fight! A rampaging sparring match! Classes! AIR BOARDING! :D


	5. Drifting: A Bird in Hand?

**Author's Note: **I had the worst time with this. It was exposition city, so then I wrote it out longer. But now I feel like it's a little disjointed, with things moving too suddenly from Koushiro and Eimi playing to Koushiro fretting to the scene at the mess hall to the scene with Koushiro and his father, ahhhh, what even am I doing anymore.

Whatever, HAVE SOME WORDS my lovelies.

**EDIT**: Fixed missing scene break indicators. Stupid reformatting... Sorry guys!

Drifting: A Bird in Hand?

Eimi was curled up beside Koushiro on the couch in the living area of their quarters, slowly enunciating the words on the pages of her book. Satoru watched them over the rim of his coffee cup from the kitchenette, hardly able to digest how much progress Eimi had already made. Today marked the third week of her time aboard Drift, and Koushiro had already smoothed out the roughest edges of her accent and taught her the basics of reading. She was still painfully slow, but that would improve with practice, which she was certainly receiving.

"The…little…boy…threw…the…ball." Eimi lifted her huge eyes to Koushiro's face, and he smiled encouragingly. As always, her pleasure at his son's approval was incredibly obvious. Her whole frame seemed to shake with the force of it, threatening to knock the reading primer from her pale hands. There weren't many actual books left these days, as most people read on devices, but some remained for educational purposes, particularly if the intended student was young enough to potentially drop things. Even under the best circumstances, that was a problem for Eimi. But as lessons stretched on and on, she grew less coordinated, and more distractable and cranky.

It was still early in the morning, but this lesson was already a solid hour underway, and Satoru was fairly sure that Eimi hadn't recovered from yesterday's lengthy period of schooling. Her eyes were already beginning to wander away from the book, and she kept shaking her head and forcing herself to focus back in. _Poor Little Bird, _Satoru thought, frowning behind his mug. _She's so desperate to impress Koushiro, but she's accustomed to running wild outside. She's twitching like a new crew member on the bridge. _His son worked Eimi to the very ends of her ability and patience, and Satoru was struggling to understand why.

But at least he had a strong argument for ending today's lesson. Eimi had needed time to quietly mourn and heal, time to accustom herself to her new life and family. Satoru had offered her three weeks of solitude in their quarters, and she had hidden within them, never stepping outside save for visits to the medical bay, filling her time with personal schooling from Koushiro. Today was the promised day when she was supposed to begin her real life on Drift. And so, Satoru watched and waited for the right moment to remind the two children of this day's importance.

Koushiro looked away from his laptop and tapped Eimi's shoulder, and she sat the book down, looking painfully hopeful. _If she's expecting a reprieve, I believe she's sadly misguided. _Satoru was trying his best not to intervene in their interactions, but he was fairly sure that Eimi was working her way up to a mild meltdown. Perhaps it was time to suggest that they engage in some other activity, such as going to the mess hall for breakfast. This wouldn't be the first time that he told Koushiro that he was pushing Eimi too hard, but, for once, his son seemed reluctant to obey.

"That's enough reading for now," Koushiro said. He hopped down from the couch and picked up a workbook from the coffee table. The corners of Satoru's mouth twitched downward as he identified the slim book as a math primer. This was _not _going to go over well.

Koushiro handed the workbook to Eimi, and she stared down at its cover impassively. "I don't wanna do numbers," she said, her tone hollow. "Can't I read some more, instead?" Her head tipped to the side, and she fixed Koushiro with a beseeching expression. "Or we could maybe play a game? We can play fight. I'm real good at play fightin'."

Koushiro shook his head and offered Eimi a pencil. She made no move to accept it, so he sat it down on top of the math primer on her lap. "We're not going to…play fight," Koushiro said firmly. "We're going to work on your basic arithmetic. I know you don't enjoy it, but it's a necessary life skill."

"Girls don't learn numbers." Eimi's voice rose to a whine, and Satoru's attention sharpened on her. He didn't have much experience with the moods and tantrums of childhood, owing to his only son's emotional calm, but he was willing to bet that a calamity was imminent. He began to make his way to the living area, wishing fervently that he had spiked this morning's coffee.

Koushiro frowned and drummed his fingertips along the cover of the workbook. "That's chauvinistic and ridiculous. You're incredibly intelligent, and I'm going to ensure that you can perform to your fullest potential, Eimi-chan. You will require this knowledge in your daily life."

The complete conviction in his son's tone had Satoru's brow rising. Was this why Koushiro was so adamant about teaching her? In truth, Satoru had no idea what the average child's intelligence was. His sample size was incredibly limited and biased. And Eimi, with her simple, cheerful behavior, muddled sometimes by mysterious, dark mood swings, seemed anything but bright. But he couldn't deny the fact that she had been a completely illiterate hoodlum, with the accent to match, a mere three weeks ago. She had also started learning arithmetic and the unique language used aboard Drift. These were no small accomplishments for a seven year old, particularly one with her background.

Eimi's full lower lip protruded into a pout. "Kouuuuu-chaaaaan. Can't we learn more later? I wanna _play_. Don'cha wanna play with me?" She leaned forward and wrapped her tiny fingers around a rod in Koushiro's prosthetic, then tugged, pulling him towards her. Her eyes were wide and doleful, and she looked like a dog watching someone eat, focusing all of her desire on his son.

_Alas for you, Little Bird. I have _never _seen Koushiro play. _And, sure enough, Koushiro was already trying to pry her off of him, his movements stiff with the beginnings of irritation. This would seem like a bad sign to most people, Satoru was certain. But it actually lifted his spirits, because it meant that Koushiro was comfortable enough with Eimi to show her emotions that he normally held back behind a mask of polite detachment.

"Eimi-chan, please. _Math_. Kindly open your book to page thirty-three, and we'll begin where we left off yesterday." Satoru watched, too interested to intervene, as Eimi's eyes began to narrow. Then, taking a deep look into Koushiro's face, she sighed and held her hands out. Satoru had no way of being sure, but she seemed to be checking her temper out of respect, which was much more control than he could ever have hoped for her to possess.

"_Please, _Kou-chan? Pretty, pretty please?"

Koushiro stiffened and froze, staring up into her face. Satoru could sympathize; there was something very powerful about Eimi's eyes, something almost uncomfortably alien and compelling about her glance. Koushiro's metal hand twined itself into a fist, then shook itself out. Its brother went to the back of his neck, making a soothing rubbing motion.

"M-math, Eimi-chan," he managed weakly. That familiar high, nasal, and slightly girlish voice rose to an unprecedented pitch, and the calm and authority he normally displayed when teaching was gone. But Satoru's attention was mostly taken up by Eimi, and how she would take this latest order, given the amount of strain she had already exhibited this morning.

At first, Eimi slumped over her lap, frowning down at the math book. Then her tiny, pale hands closed around the pencil and the book. When she tilted her head up, her eyes were bright and shining with unshed moisture. Her lower lip trembled, and Satoru feared that tears were unavoidable at this point, but then she tossed the supplies aside and made a dive for Koushiro's laptop. She grabbed it, shut the lid, and pressed it against her chest, then hopped off of the couch and began to run.

For a moment, Koushiro just stared after her, looking baffled. Then his palm smacked his forehead, and he began to shift his weight from foot to foot, clearly more distressed than the situation called for. "Eimi-chan!" Koushiro cried, his voice rising to a strangled soprano note. "I need that! I was working on a report for the bridge while you were reading- I didn't save my latest work- Eimi-chan!"

Satoru swallowed the chuckling sound working its way up his throat. It was very unlike Koushiro to forget to save regularly, but he supposed it was a result of his trying to simultaneously monitor Eimi. _Perhaps this will teach you the dangers of double-tasking, my boy. _Still, he must have written a lot without backing it up for him to react so strongly to potentially losing his work.

Satoru watched with poorly concealed amazement as Koushiro began to chase Eimi, his arms flailing in the direction of her back. The boy's panic made him much fleeter than Satoru would have imagined, and his hand closed on Eimi's shoulder, but she shrieked with delight, then disappeared.

"Eimi-chan!" Koushiro shouted, staring desperately around the living area. His hand was frozen up and out, in the place where Eimi's shoulder had been a moment before. "That's an unfair advantage. I don't have any Gift! Eimi-chan! I'm not being facetious when I say that I seriously require that laptop!"

She reappeared right in front of Koushiro as suddenly as she had left, and he cried out and took a step backward. Giggling, she tapped his forehead and began to run again. "Liar!" she called over her shoulder. "Ya got so much Gift, it's poppin' outta your ear holes!"

The last bit of Koushiro's normal restraint and calm seemed to fizzle abruptly away. "I am _not _a liar!" he cried, sounding half hysterical. If he had retained his level head, the boy might have realized that the shortest way to end this was to ignore Eimi until she lost interest, but poor Koushiro had completely risen to her bait. The chase took on a whole new level of desperation on Koushiro's end and wild, fierce joy on Eimi's, and Satoru leaned against the counter and stared, unable to do more. He had no idea why Eimi kept insisting, with sing-song glee, that Koushiro was Gifted. He wasn't, or, at least, the Gift trainers aboard Drift had found no signs of it. Surely, they would know better than a little girl from a backwater village. But, then, she did seem awfully adept with her own peculiar brand of Gift. Just who had taught her to ghost and shield so well?

For a while, Satoru allowed the two children to stomp, shout, and make a general ear-splitting racket as they tore through the quarters. Eimi needed to burn some energy, and his son needed to do something that normal children did, for once. Those were the reasonable excuses that he listed to himself, but, in reality, he was having far too much fun watching such exuberant play to intervene. Eventually, though, he began to fear for the sanity of his neighbors, and he stepped into the middle of the living room.

"Alright, you two," he said calmly, slipping a hand into his pocket. The other raised his mug to his lips, and he drank deeply as he watched Koushiro come to a complete stop. His boy blinked slowly and began to color, then stared with determination at the ground, no doubt embarrassed by his behavior. Eimi took a few more steps at full speed, then began to taper off as she realized that the game was over. Her smile vanished, but she did not show any signs of aggression or dislike at having her fun spoiled. Satoru was grateful. He wasn't sure how she would react to his order, and it would have hurt him to see mutiny, fear, or animosity on her face.

"Have a seat," he directed, pointing to the couch. Eimi caught Koushiro's eye, and he could practically feel them communicating in the unspoken language of childhood companions. The press of her brow over her eyes, the tiny, worried frown… _Are we in trouble? Are we going to be punished? _Then, her hand closed around his prosthetic, and she returned the laptop to him. _I'm so sorry. I just wanted to play. _This last bit was delivered with the width of her eyes and the anxious roaming of her hands.

"Eimi-chan. Drift equipment and reports are not to be endangered. In the future, I would ask that you avoid involving either in your play." Satoru stared calmly down at her until she nodded, threading strands of her long hair through her fingers all the while. His eyes shifted over to his son, who met his glance with no small amount of abashed reluctance. "Koushiro. Eimi-chan needs a break. She isn't accustomed to being at task for long periods of time, and work should be balanced…" He meant to say that work and play should be attended to in equal proportions, but he couldn't bring himself to be so hypocritical, given his own strong preference for work.

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched over the room, as Satoru had no idea how to end his trailing sentence. Eventually, his son caught on to his indecision, and he opened his laptop, presumably checking on the status of his report. The gesture seemed rude, but Satoru knew that his son was trying to divert attention away from his lackluster speaking skills. Koushiro's tiny shoulders sagged with relief as he stared at the display, so everything was surely intact.

Eimi began to shift around on the couch, and the movement caught Satoru's attention, pulling him away from his verbal foible. "I'm hungry, Kou-chan," she complained, rubbing his shoulder with her head. She wrapped her arms around Koushiro's neck, getting between him and the computer on his lap. He grunted and placed a palm on her forehead, pushing her back, but, unless he used his robotic arm, she was stronger. She batted his hand aside and put her face right up against his, making it impossible for him to ignore her. "Kouuuu-chaaaaaaaaaan!"

"Eimi-chan," Koushiro sighed. "Please. Don't be so…" Satoru hid a grin with his coffee cup as he watched his son struggle for a kinder synonym for 'annoying.' "…Willful."

"Don't you be so…ignorin' me!" Eimi returned. She huffed at him, but it was apparently all for show, because she immediately latched on to his arm and rested her head against his.

Koushiro sighed. "Say, 'Kindly refrain from ignoring me.' And, I apologize. I've told you, I have a tendency to become absorbed in my work. Especially when I nearly just lost it." That last was delivered with an unusual amount of tartness, and something oddly like affectionate indulgence.

"Kindly refrain from ignoring me." Eimi drew herself up proudly, speaking with a primness that suggested that she was aware that Koushiro was not teaching her to talk the way other children did. Satoru couldn't help but wonder if she would end up sounding as proper and overly polite as Koushiro, or if she would develop her own unique syntax over time. The latter seemed more likely. Although she emulated and deferred to Koushiro, she was clearly a strong-willed girl.

Sensing that it was time for him to take hold of this conversation again, Satoru cleared his throat loudly enough to claim the attention of the children. "Eimi-chan. You'll recall that you promised to begin stepping outside of our quarters after three weeks. Today marks that day, and so… I suggest that we all eat breakfast in the mess hall."

Koushiro's body instantly went rigid, and the computer on his lap slid off to the side, falling against the armrest of the couch. Satoru fought to keep his expression normal. He had expected Eimi to be the one who responded badly to this suggestion, but she only looked a little worried. Her hand fastened around Koushiro's, but she nodded duly.

"Koushiro, I could use your help in my room," Satoru said slowly. "Eimi-chan, would you mind waiting for a few minutes? We'll be right back out, and then we can all go to breakfast."

"Okaaaaaay." Eimi picked her book up and flipped through a few pages, but her eyes jumped about enough to tell Satoru that she was simply looking at the pictures.

Satoru waited for his son to stand and walk past him, then closed his bedroom door behind them. Koushiro stared at him impassively, and something about his downcast eyes seemed to suggest that he sensed this conversation would not be enjoyable. Satoru felt his concern rising, and he sat on the edge of his bed and motioned for his son to join him.

For a moment, he was quiet, and he simply stared at his son's bowed shoulders. He wished he could guess what the problem was, but he wasn't having any luck. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I thought you would be excited to show our Little Bird around," he said softly. His hand landed on Koushiro's shoulder and squeezed gently. "What's wrong?"

Koushiro looked away and began to pick at the joints of his prosthetic with his living hand. For a long moment, he was silent, and, when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that Satoru almost didn't hear it. "How… How common do you think the name 'Taichi' is on Hokori?" he asked, naming Eimi's home planet.

"You're wondering if the orphans on Drift are Eimi-chan's cousins." Actually, Satoru had wondered why Koushiro hadn't told Eimi that there was a brown eyed, brunette boy named Taichi aboard Drift who had come from her planet. After all, she had mentioned having a cousin by that name on Hokori, and there was a resemblance, if only faintly. He shouldn't have assumed that his son had forgotten that detail in all of the excitement surrounding Eimi's arrival. Koushiro had a mind like a steel trap.

His son produced a strained grunt of agreement, and Satoru made a fist and pressed the knuckle of his pointer finger against his chin. Shouldn't Koushiro be excited that his friend might have family so close at hand? Or was he concerned about Taichi's volatile nature? "Let's say our Taichi-kun and his sister _are_ related to Eimi-chan. Wouldn't that be a happy coincidence?"

Koushiro buried his face in his hands, apparently ignoring the cold touch of his metallic fingers. His shoulders shook once, twice. "I know it would be fantastic news for her. But…"

And, watching his son rub his tiny digits against his forehead, Satoru finally began to understand. "Koushiro… You're not… Are you afraid that she would join whichever family takes in her cousins…?"

Koushiro confirmed with a miniscule node, and Satoru wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or desperately scoop his son up into his lap for a hug. It seemed almost surreal to think that a little boy who wanted nothing to do with anyone else just three weeks ago was so torn up over the thought of losing his new roommate. But the evidence was obvious, and it made him want to weep with relief.

"Even if she did live with another family, you could easily spend time with her, you know." Those words were only meant to gauge his son's reaction. Satoru was Eimi's guardian now, and he would fight to keep her in his quarters. Koushiro needed her. He tried to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt when his mind suggested that she might need her family more than she needed the Izumis.

A faint, uncomfortable sound was the only reply, and that was enough to convince Satoru that Eimi had to stay here. He patted his son's shoulder. "Well, there's no sense in growing upset before we even know the facts. Hold your chin up, son. Let's go see what we can learn, shall we?"

When Koushiro finally lowered his hands, Satoru could see the strain in his son's face. "As you will," he whispered.

A Little Later

It was somewhat difficult to lead Eimi to the mess hall when she was crowding his back so much. The narrow corridors, those shining gray walls, so close together that the reflection of the lights from the panels in the ceiling formed twin glares on either side, seemed to intimidate her, and she clung to his prosthetic like one of his attachments. Unfortunately, an adult had stopped his father for what turned out to be a lengthy, work-related conversation, so he was on his own. And he desperately needed the support of his father at the moment.

He was no replacement for a beloved family member. He knew that. So many eyes skipped over him every day, fastening on him only to comment on his intelligence or to bully him. No one had ever enjoyed his company, except for his parents and the girl at his side. In fact, his focus on his work and his quick, capable mind seemed to aggravate, intimidate, and baffle the people around him. But Eimi didn't question his idiosyncrasies. Rather, she worked around them, bossily demanding attention when he buried himself in a screen, yet happy to amuse herself if need be, so long as he permitted her to sit squished against his side. He had no way to explain how much happier he was with her weight added to his.

He didn't want to be alone again, and yet here he was, leading Eimi to the place where Taichi and his sister, Hikari, were likely eating at this very moment. The sound of chatter became louder and louder as they moved, and soon they were at the opening in the hall that lead to their destination. He paused for a moment, ignoring Eimi's confused humming sound, and gathered himself. Then he smiled shakily at Eimi, remembering that she was nervous, too, and led her inside.

It was a plain, industrial open space, filled with long, stainless steel tables lined with benches on either side. The food was piled on a table against the far wall of the room relative to the entrance. The breakfast rush was in full swing, and the people inside seemed to form a moving forest of gray trees, all towering over him. This should have obscured Taichi from view, since he was a child in a room filled mostly with adults, but Koushiro's eyes fell on him immediately. It was difficult for them not to. He was standing on one of the tables, reaching over the side and half-lifting another child from his seat on the bench. His face was contorted with fury, and he looked like a great cat caught mid roar. The fact that no one was really reacting said quite a bit about Taichi's normal behavior.

By the time Koushiro had fully registered what he was seeing, Eimi had disappeared. Koushiro gasped and desperately looked around the room. Where _was _she? Then there was a flickering towards the center of the room, as abrupt and magical as the pulsing of a spark bug's light, followed by a second one several yards ahead of the last. When she fully materialized, she was standing beside Taichi on the table.

"Wot'cher, Taichi," she cried, standing behind him and slightly to the side. "Got'cher back, don' I?"

Taichi whirled around, completely dropping the boy's uniform jacket. As he fell back to the bench below, Koushiro identified him as Masa. He began to run towards them, his short legs fueled with panic. Masa's cruelty, strength, and tendency to carry a knife were all well known to him.

"_Eimi!" _Taichi's shout was so loud that the entire population of the mess hall seemed to turn towards him and go silent, just in time to see him wildly embrace Eimi. Koushiro was close enough now to see the cruel, hard look on Masa's face, to see him reach into his pocket, but apparently the weight of so many eyes stilled his hand. He retreated, looking disgusted.

A tiny girl climbed onto the table and threw herself onto Eimi's back, clinging to her shoulders. She had short, wispy, light-brown hair. Like Eimi, she had huge eyes with incredibly long lashes, but hers were a much lighter shade of brown. The two of them were both moonlight pale, and it suddenly occurred to Koushiro that the similarities between the two girls should have warned him of shared blood, but Taichi had a way of commanding much more attention than his sister. Little Hikari began to bawl, and her tears seemed to be something of a trigger. Instantly, it seemed, Eimi was sobbing as well, and the little group all fell to their knees on the table. Eimi buried her face in Taichi's shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her. Koushiro couldn't see his face from this angle, but his shoulders were shaking.

Koushiro automatically took a step back. Taichi and Eimi were speaking to each other, but their accents were so thick that their speech was incomprehensible. At any rate, it was their business, not his. He watched Taichi reach around Eimi and encompass Hikari in his embrace as well, his posture protective and impossibly affectionate.

He turned around and wandered out of the mess hall, moving in a daze.

A Little Later

Satoru watched Koushiro stagger past him in a corridor, and no recognition sparked in his son's eyes as he walked by. He made a distracted, awkward excuse to his coworker, who was still talking to him about something that, while important, would simply have to wait. Then he fell into stride behind his son, following him back to their quarters.

The boy made his way directly to his room, and Satoru stood in the doorway, watching him. Koushiro's hands closed half-heartedly around his laptop, and he booted it up and stared blankly at the screen for a while. His little brow furrowed, and he began to investigate his system's video options. Satoru shook his head sadly. He could easily see the problem, even if his son couldn't. Koushiro's display had gone blurry because he was silently crying.

Suddenly, Koushiro startled and began to roughly wipe his tears away, and Satoru watched with a mixture of shock and sorrow as he began to sob into his cupped hands. Despite all of the hardships his son had faced over his short life, Satoru had never seen him cry full out before. He teared up occasionally, but the tears rarely spilled over, and, when they did, it was a quick, understated affair. When his mother died, he had spent most of the time immediately after heavily drugged for the pain involved with losing his arm and getting his first prosthetic. Since it was directly connected to his neural network, attaching and removing it was excruciating, and the narcotics had nearly knocked him senseless. And, really, Koushiro was too young to comprehend the meaning of death at the time, and Satoru could remember watching Koushiro stare at the door with longing, as if the boy expected his mother to enter at any moment. By the time he came to understand what had happened, something had already hardened around his heart, and he was unable to express his grief.

That shell had remained, had grown more and more impermeable, in the years that followed. And yet, here he was, weeping with a violence that suggested that all of the painful things in his life had just occurred. _Did that Little Bird really melt so much of the ice inside of him? _Satoru wondered. Something ached deep within him, and he stepped into the room and sat beside his son, wrapping his arms around him. Koushiro exclaimed and immediately began to try and hide the signs of his breakdown, wiping his face and swallowing his sobs. Satoru wondered if it would have been better to let him cry for a while.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," he said, painfully aware of how awkward he sounded. "Emotional catharsis is an essential component of mental and physical health." He patted his son's back with one hand and pressed his face into his neck with the other, leaning over him, surrounding him. It occurred to him that he should have encouraged this in the past, but, unfortunately, he struggled with this topic too much himself to be of much help to someone else. Koushiro's arms wrapped around his neck, and his little body glued itself to his, trembling against him. Satoru held him, rocking him gently, until the last of the tears dripped out, and he went limp in his arms. He tried to lay him down in his bed, but Koushiro held on to him, so he made himself comfortable, allowing the boy to lay along his chest and stomach.

_When is the last time I held him like this? _Satoru wondered, and his brow furrowed as he realized that he couldn't remember. One of his hands rose to his forehead, rubbing away the sudden tension there. Was it possible that he was partially responsible for Koushiro's withdrawal?

"I'm sorry," Koushio murmured, and Satoru ran his fingers through his hair.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he said gently. Koushiro sighed and buried his face against his chest.

"Isn't there? I should be happy for her, but, instead… I… I believe I'm… _jealous_. I want her to stay here, with us. It, it's entirely self-centered and irrational of me."

Satoru chuckled faintly, and it caused Koushiro to rise and fall as his diaphragm expanded. "Love can make a person behave strangely." He patted Koushiro's head fondly, feeling oddly grateful to see his son experience some of the impulsive, muddled emotions of childhood. This kind of lesson had never come up in the past, and he was grateful to finally be making some progress with the topic of relationships, even if such things often bordered on being awkward.

"Love?" Koushiro echoed incredulously. He averted his eyes and frowned. "I've only known Eimi-chan for three weeks. I don't love her."

Satoru's hand drifted to Koushiro's chin, tilting his face towards his. Their identical eyes met, and he leaned in and spoke as gently and softly as he could. "Then why were you crying?"

Koushiro's mouth popped open, but no words slipped out. After a moment, he closed it, then glanced about and squirmed, looking deeply uncomfortable. Satoru fought down a smile and ran a hand soothingly down his back. He had made his point. It was time to let the poor boy off of the proverbial hook.

"Koushiro, I'm sorry, but I really need to get to work. You haven't been able to spend much time on the bridge lately. If you feel up to it, would you like to join me today? Eimi-chan can spend the day with Taichi-kun and Hikari-chan, and you can spend the evening with her. How does that sound?"

"Alright," Koushiro said after a bit of a pause. "I would like to work again, but… Someone needs to teach Eimi-chan."

"We'll find a way for you to do both," Satoru said gently. _And poor Eimi-chan can have some balance in her life. You're a bit of a harsh teacher, my boy._

Koushiro nodded, then wandered off to the bathroom, presumably to wash his face. Satoru stood and waited in the living area, trying not to worry. If Eimi really did show a strong preference for her cousins, he was beginning to realize how deeply it would hurt Koushiro. But he had to trust her, had to trust the open affection and respect she already exhibited towards his son. Hope was all he had at this point.

**Author's Note: **I love Satoru, guys. He's so flawed, but so great. He's so awkward, and he should totally be more proactive in his parenting (seriously, he definitely errors on the side of letting the kids deal with stuff all by themselves), but, on the other hand, he's so forgiving and indulgent, while still knowing when to be firm. Sort of firm. Maybe he should be firmer.

Do you guys buy that Koushiro could end up losing it and chasing Eimi around? I just really wanted to see the poor boy act like a kid, even if he was strained at the time.

I keep wondering why no one keeps a closer eye on Masa and Taichi. These adults must not like to interfere with other people's kids… (Probably the same reason why no one keeps an eye on the kids at Hogwarts... Because then fun stuff wouldn't happen.)

This chapter is in a ton of parts, because there was no way for me to get it all in one shot. You would have ended up with about 20K words by the time it's all said and done. I have about 5K more ready to go, so the next update will be much sooner than this one. Yay!

Please look forward to the resolution of where Eimi will end up living, some delightful and incomprehensible gibberish delivered by a cockney Taichi, and lots of awkward throat clearing and the classic Izumi foible of forgetting people in favor of computers.


	6. Drifting: Nesting

Drifting: Nesting

No distractions. No feelings. Just data, numbers, and strings of code, just the quiet, wonderful universe that was Koushiro's true home. He was awash with that exhilarating feeling of concentrating and seeing the results pile up, forming a picture that grew more cohesive and expansive by the minute, all thanks to his efforts.

There was a buzzing undertone of activity on the bridge, consisting of workers murmuring to each other, fingers tapping on keys and mice, and feet traveling across the floor. Koushiro didn't hear any of it. In this moment, for all intents and purposes, the data in front of him was all that was and had ever been. But then something shook the surface of his work station, and he pried his eyes reluctantly away from his twin monitors, already frowning at the interruption.

"Say, Red. What are you still doing here? Hadn't you better get back to your quarters? Did you forget that you have another chick in the nest?"

Koushiro blinked up at Captain Takehiko, who was leaning over his father's work station, his enormous hands drumming on the table that the Izumis shared. His dark eyes scanned the room instinctively, and Koushiro realized that many of their team members had already been relieved with their nighttime replacements.

His father frowned and scratched his forehead, absently brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Sir? It's not time to leave yet. It's only-" he broke off with a strangled sound, and Koushiro realized that it was 2017 hours. His eyebrows flew up. It honestly felt like he had just stepped onto the bridge sat down at his computer. How in the world had so much time slipped by?

Satoru rose hastily, saving his work and closing down his station, and Koushiro followed his lead, more out of respect than need. For a few seconds, his thoughts were unable to move beyond his work, like bits of debris gravitationally bound to a planet. Then, something snapped and shifted in his mind, and an electrifying, desperate panic burst through him, causing him to stumble away from his work station.

"Thank you, sir," his father said as he turned to leave. Koushiro pivoted awkwardly on his heels, like a child fumbling through early morning training exercises. "We'll be leaving, then."

"Don't mention it," the captain muttered. Koushiro trotted behind his father, fighting down the urge to run ahead of him. It was so _late_, almost bedtime for children his age. What if Eimi had fallen asleep somewhere? What if she was searching for him? Koushiro drummed his fingers against his prosthetic and frowned at the floor, desperately trying to think of places where Eimi might have gone with her cousins. Was it possible that she was already in their quarters? Had his father even programmed the doors to recognize her fingerprints yet? Typically, Koushiro was very much aware of his surroundings, but he was following his father blindly, not seeing anything but Satoru's heels moving against the shiny gray floors.

Finally, they reached their home, and Satoru opened the door. Koushiro slipped passed him, quickly checking the tiny kitchenette and living area, the bathroom, their room, and then his father's room. The apartment was completely silent and empty, which had once been a welcome state of affairs. But now… Breathing heavily, Koushiro ran back into the living room, stumbling along the way, nearly falling into the coffee table.

"She hasn't returned. She must still be with Taichi-san..." he paused and slipped his hands into his pockets. "What if... What if she doesn't come back?" What was _wrong _with him? Despite spending so much time and energy worrying about whether or not Eimi would want to stay with him and his father, he forgot all about her as soon as his body was seated in front of a computer.

For a moment, the Izumis stared mutely at one another, each of them shifting uncomfortably. Then, a terrible nugget of insight broke through Koushiro's guilt and panic, and it popped out of his mouth like an airboard bursting through a racing gate. "I abandoned her!" he cried, and his hands went to his hair, mussing it up at the roots. "She doesn't know how to navigate the corridors... Even if she wanted to come back, she couldn't..." His feet began to move, turning him in an endless loop around the coffee table. "Does Taichi-san know how to get here? No, no, the doors are labeled in Drift, he can't read it... He probably can't read Imperial, either…"

Hands closed on his shoulders, and Koushiro exclaimed and pulled away. His tiny chest heaved as he turned to identify his attacker, and he froze and stared, utterly confused, when he saw his father.

"Koushiro. You're babbling. Take a deep breath." Satoru's dark eyes were riveted to him, and something about the weight of his stare had Koushiro shifting backwards. He felt as if his father could see through him entirely, and the bunching of his forehead told Koushiro that something was amiss. Was his display of emotion displeasing him? The boy focused on breathing slowly and deeply, then made his way to the couch, hauling himself onto the cushions with as much dignity as he could muster.

His father took a seat beside him, and one of his hands landed on his back. "I apologize, Koushiro. I know how important Eimi-chan is to you, and, despite that, I... I allowed my preoccupation with my work to overshadow her. I wanted to give her some time with her family, but I should have brought her home much earlier than this. But, please, don't worry. I'll go look for her right now, and I'm sure that if she's lost, someone will bring her along shortly. You stay here so that there will be someone waiting for her when she arrives."

Koushiro spread his hands and stared down into them, as if the practice of palmistry had any merit, particularly when one appendage was metallic. "But... What if she's not lost? What if she's already planning to spend the night with Taichi-san at the child care center?" A joint in his robotic wrist twitched, and Koushiro had no conscious memory of willing it to move. He caught it with his other hand and massaged it nervously.

There was a long pause, and then his father patted his back once, twice. "If it comes to that, I'll convince her to return somehow," he said, and the heaviness of his tone had Koushiro staring up into his face. It was strained, to the point where thick lines had appeared around his eyes and the edges of his mouth. Koushiro blinked, then fought down the urge to rub his eyes. His father seemed so old all of a sudden, and the boy was mentally pulled back a few years, to a time when Satoru had always looked this way.

Koushiro struggled to pull himself back to the present, to focus on the problem at hand, to stay far away from where that train of thought would lead him. "Little Bird might need Taichi-san more than she needs me," he pointed out, his voice hollow, although he knew his words were superfluous. His father's strain made it clear that he was aware of that.

Satoru grunted, stood, and made his way to the door. "And you might need Little Bird more than she needs Taichi-san. Contact me if someone brings her here." Then he opened the door and slipped out of their quarters. Koushiro puzzled over his words for a few minutes, but quickly lapsed back into worry.

Eventually, he stood and retrieved his laptop, trying to compile some of the data they had gathered today into a simple, easily digestible report, but he was too distracted to create anything usable. After about twenty minutes, he gave that up and fell back on pacing. His mind filled with implausible scenarios where Eimi took up residence with her cousins and never spoke to him again, and, although he kept reminding himself that she surely would never shun him to that extent, he couldn't seem to prevent himself from fretting over it.

Koushiro had no idea what Eimi's relationship with her cousins was like. He hadn't remained in the mess hall long enough to gather any pertinent information, other than that they were, in fact, related. Even so, Koushiro was convinced that Eimi's tie to Taichi had to be stronger than her tie to him. Logically, she had known him longer. But, more pressingly, strong, Gifted, confident Taichi was everything that Koushiro was not. How could he, small, meek, crippled, and emotionally stagnant as he was, hope to compete with a boy who exuded vitality and authority? After all, he had never been able to win a friend for himself, had never even _tried_.

Worse yet, over the last three weeks, parts of him that he always subconsciously buried down had risen to the surface and broken through to his notice, like streams of bubbles in the heated physical therapy baths. Receiving affection and attention from Eimi reminded him that, despite being part metal, he was human, and he had certain social and emotional needs. Although it offended his pride as a fledgling stoic and intellectual to admit it, Eimi's devotion was, to him, what sunlight was to a plant. He could sense that he would wither without it, would become even less than what he had been before he met her.

And, all at once, he understood why he had broken down this morning. His breathing devolved into sharp, shallow little bursts that shook his whole body, rapidly approaching hyperventilation, and he forced himself to bend over and inhale slowly and deeply. _I will not lose control again, _he told himself firmly. _I've already cried one time too many over this. If I have time to bawl like an infant, then I have time to do something productive. _He tried to identify a useful task that he could perform, eager for some sort of distraction from these foreign, burdensome feelings, but, as his eyes moved about his quarters, he realized for the first time how bare and empty they were. He twitched as he realized that he hadn't seen his mother's harp in years. Had they somehow lost it in the attack? He couldn't remember what little she had taught him, but he still would have liked to run his fingers down the strings, if only for something to do with his hands. Distantly, he longed for the soothing sound of his mother playing her instrument, chatting all the while, the subtle happiness in her tone every bit as musical as the strings.

There was a quick, harried knock on the front door, and Koushiro came to an abrupt halt. For a moment, he stared at the portal, unable to believe that someone was there. Then, he sprang forward, strained onto the tips of his toes, and threw his body against the wall, struggling to reach the panel that would grant access. Finally, he tapped his fingertips against it, and the door slid open. His heart faltered for a moment when he saw Eimi standing behind Taichi and Kido Jyou, the head doctor's son. Hikari hovered in the background, looking sleepy and unfocused.

Koushiro's eyes fell on Eimi's face, and he saw that it was streaked with tears, and that her eyes were rimmed with puffy bits of swollen, red skin. _She's been crying, _he realized. He tried to edge past the boys so he could reach Eimi, a thousand desperate apologies and pleas rushing to the forefront of his mind, but Taichi brought him to a halt by shoving his shoulder into his chest. A faint grunt of pain and surprise slipped out of Koushiro's lips, and he doubled over with the force of the blow. Eimi exclaimed and pressed herself against Taichi's back, wrapping her hands around him, locking them in front of his chest, clearly trying to hold him back. Jyou gasped and backed away from the cousins, holding his hands out in front of him, as if they could protect him.

"Oi, you!" Taichi roared, struggling to break Eimi's hold. She was gasping with the effort of trying to restrain him, but Taichi was completely oblivious, toting her along as a bear carries a burr in its coat. Koushiro straightened cautiously and stared at the taller boy. Although no one was touching him, he felt like he was standing in front of a fractured water main, being battered and pushed back by a stream of rage. All he could do was gape at Taichi, distantly aware that he was in something of a tight situation.

"'At's righ', I'm talkin' t'you, ya blighter! Wot's t'idear, den, makin' Eimi cry like 'at, eh?"

Koushiro was so horrified by Taichi's accent that he failed to register the confirmation that he had, in fact, hurt Eimi. "He's talking to me," he whispered to her, flicking his eyes over Taichi's shoulder. "I can see his mouth moving. I can hear the words. But I have no idea what he's saying." Taichi stared at him with equal confusion, and Koushiro realized that his accent was every bit as strange to Taichi as Taichi's was to him. Koushiro gave Eimi a helpless look. She shifted uncomfortably under his glance, and Taichi used that moment of inattention to free himself from her hold, gently lowering her to her feet.

"You know, ah, I had better get back home," Jyou said, laughing nervously. Koushiro wanted to thank him, but he backed away and turned down a corridor so quickly that he never got the chance. He shook his head slightly, wishing that he had the option of a speedy retreat. But, as Taichi came closer and loomed over him, it quickly became apparent that some sort of confrontation was imminent.

Koushiro took a deep breath and looked up at Taichi, trying to keep his expression carefully neutral. "Would you care to come inside?" he asked politely, motioning towards the open door to his quarters. Taichi snorted, and he was so close that Koushiro could feel the puff of hot air on his face.

"Wot I wan'," he snarled, taking hold of Koushiro's collar, "is t'kno' why ya didn' ge' Eimi. Yer shif' ended, righ'? I been draggin' Eimi an' 'ikari aroun' fer 'ours, tryin' ter find yer arse, 'aven't I!"

Koushiro had never seen a lion in person before, but he had seen pictures. Taichi, with his explosion of bushy brown hair, his facial muscles all bunched up, those flakes of gold hardening against a background of light brown iris, and his growling voice slipping out of a wide open mouth… _Similarities aside, I believe I'd rather have the lion, _Koushiro thought, particularly as the hands inching around his throat began to heat up to an impossibly high temperature. The cold sweat breaking over his forehead quickly grew hot.

He gasped as Taichi lifted him with frightening ease. He could distantly hear Eimi protesting, her voice tight and shrill, but Taichi failed to respond. Koushiro's hands rose automatically to Taichi's, trying to pry them off, and, impossibly, the other boy flinched and dropped him. Koushiro instinctively tried to step back into his quarters, rubbing his throat all the while, but the doors had automatically closed. Reluctantly, he looked up at Taichi's face and found that his eyes were fixed on his left hand.

"Yer metal!" Taichi barked, stepping back. He turned to Eimi and pointed, quite rudely, at Koushiro's exposed hand. "Wot's 'e metal fer, den, eh?" Koushiro sighed and inched back. This was why he typically disliked meeting new people. They always asked the same question, whether of him or of his father, when they thought he wasn't listening. He understood that missing a limb wasn't exactly typical, and that the rarity made the affliction interesting. But it seemed obvious to him that a person wouldn't want to be constantly asked how they had lost an arm. He couldn't imagine a scenario where that tale was positive for the speaker.

Eimi shrugged. "Because he hasn't got an arm," she said offhandedly. For a moment, all Koushiro could do was stare at her. Her answer was so marvelously simple, so wonderfully succinct and to the point, so devoid of emotional input…! He chuckled weakly, then doubled over, laughing full-out. Eimi smiled hesitantly and tipped her head, clearly wanting to join in on the joke, but not understanding it.

In the past, he had answered the question of why he had a prosthetic with stony silence. He had never, _never _told anyone what had happened to his arm. He suspected that he physically couldn't, even if he wanted to, not with all the other nightmarish memories tied up in that story. But, starting today, he would always have a retort lined up for that painful, insultingly personal inquiry, and that prospect filled him with a strange, giddy sense of delight, and something oddly like anticipation. _Because I don't have an arm!_

Slowly, it occurred to him that Eimi was one of the only people, and certainly the only child, who had ever neglected to ask about his arm, who had simply accepted it as a part of him. He caught her eye and smiled warmly, moving around Taichi and reaching for her.

A tan, rough hand closed around his arm, and Koushiro turned to see Taichi looking him over from head to toe. "Lissen, I dunno why Eimi's all worked up abou' ya. I guess ya took carruh 'er an' saved 'er on 'okori, and I'm glad, so, alrigh', _but_…" There was something challenging and just a little menacing in his eyes as he straightened and declared, "If ya wanna run wif Eimi- my fam'ly- ya needs t'be strong ennuf t'protect 'er, innit?" He jabbed his pointer finger into Koushiro's chest with enough force to leave a tiny, circular bruise. "I 'ad betta see yer arse a' trainin' tuhmarruh."

Koushiro returned Taichi's hard look, forcing himself to display a calm he did not feel. He was a bit confused by Taichi's thick accent, which made Eimi's old one seem minor in comparison, and intimidated at the thought of joining the physical training courses for children. But, somehow, he could sense that something important was happening here, although he lacked the interpersonal skills to identify it. Eimi tugged on his arm, and he turned towards her automatically. She pressed a hand to his ear, blocking it from Taichi's view, and placed her lips up against it.

"He's tryin' to boss you, okay? It's a test. If you don't bite back, he'll think he can boss you forever. Just so yanno." Then she drifted away, standing equidistant to the two of them, as if to imply neutrality. She crossed her pudgy little arms and stared at them, her expression blank.

Koushiro squared his shoulders and straightened his posture, hoping to look collected without appearing challenging. He extended his prosthetic for a handshake. It was more typical to shake with one's right hand, but he wanted to show the strength he had by virtue of the hunk of metal that was a part of him. "I see. Well, if you insist on spending time with _my _family-" he paused and nodded at Eimi, just to ensure that his meaning was fully clear, "-then I need to know that you have the knowledge necessary to keep her safe. Brute force isn't always sufficient. I expect you and your sister take part in the lessons I give Eimi-chan from now on." His own eyes widened at his proclamation, and he spared a moment to wonder what he had just gotten himself into. But he had no other way to point out his unique strengths; what else could he have said? _I hope I can handle this…_

Taichi snorted and crossed his arms. "She's _my _fam'ly," he said stubbornly. "I'm the las' boy, so I'm in charge. She's a Yagami now. I say so." He spoke with an authority and self-assurance that suggested that his word was law. Koushiro found himself torn between annoyance with his heavy handedness and admiration of his confidence. He moved his dark eyes to Eimi's face, and he noticed that she was smiling encouragingly at him. Taking a deep breath, Koushiro mirrored Taichi's posture and body language, having no knowledge of how to convey firmness on his own.

"According to Drift records, she's part of my family, as well. I'm not disputing your claim; I'm merely making my own, to stand alongside yours." Koushiro fought down the urge to rub his forehead. He really had no desire to fight with Taichi over Eimi, like children scrapping over a new toy, but he also needed to make it understood that he wasn't going to be entirely pushed aside without an argument. It occurred to him that Eimi hadn't made any comments yet, so he glanced towards her.

"Eimi-chan. What are your thoughts on the subject?" he asked respectfully. In his peripheral vision, he caught Taichi edging back, eyes slightly wide. Eimi blinked at him, then stared with determination at the ground. A hand flashed to her face briefly, lightly, like a passing butterfly, and Koushiro realized that she was wiping her eyes.

_Why is she upset? And why does Taichi seem so surprised? _Koushiro concentrated, then rapidly began to remember things that Eimi had mentioned over the past three weeks. _He used to say it a lot, yanno, that he would sell me to the bad people coz I cost money to feed... Well, I had a hammock. I didn't get a cot… Girls don't learn numbers. _

_Of course. Her planet is deeply chauvinistic. _Koushiro fought to keep his sudden anger off of his face, not wanting Eimi to think that it was directed at her, but he couldn't prevent his hands from forming tight fists. He forced himself to wait patiently for Eimi to gather herself.

Finally, she looked straight into Taichi's face, smiled, and said, "See how nice he is? I like him, Taichi." She held her hands out beseechingly, and Taichi took a step back. His eyes were averted, and he was shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Eimi... I'm sorry I didn'..." He paused, cleared his throat, and stomped up to Koushiro, throwing his hands onto his shoulders with enough force to make his knees buckle. "You. Ya 'ad betta take carruh Eimi when she's wif ya, or I'll _end_ ya, ya ge' me?"

"And the same to you, Taichi-san," Koushiro said calmly, blessing the steadiness of his voice. Although Taichi was crowding him, standing over him, pressing down on him, glaring openly, he somehow managed to hold back any fear responses. On an instinctive level, he sensed that staying collected would impress the other boy. And, sure enough, Taichi's growling expression slowly morphed into a begrudging smirk, and he eased off of him with one final, body-shaking clap to his shoulders.

"G'nigh', Eimi. Ya need ter go t'trainin' tuhmarruh, too, so sleep. C'mon, 'ikari." He took hold of his sister's hand and led her down the hall, half lifting her when she stumbled sleepily beside him.

Koushiro watched them until they turned down another corridor, then put his back against the wall and slid down to his bottom, tilting his head back. He didn't react when Eimi squished herself beside him, crowding him, placing both of her hands on his shoulder. "Am I correct in thinking that that went well?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"You were perfect," Eimi said, sighing blissfully. She rested her head on top of her hands, nuzzling the side of his face affectionately. Koushiro sighed, placed his hand on her forehead, and gently pushed her away. He only had her face a few inches away from his when she shifted and began to lick his palm, causing him to shudder and pull away. Giggling wickedly, she pressed herself even more firmly against him than she was before.

"That was disgusting," Koushiro complained, his tone bland and even. He wiped his palm against his pants, then tried to stand, but Eimi's body weight was holding him down. "Eimi-chan. Kindly refrain from clinging to me in public. It's inappropriate."

Eimi glanced up and down the deserted corridor, then raised an eyebrow imperiously, but, somehow, Koushiro managed to maintain his deadpan expression. Eimi sighed and released him, and he stood, then helped her up.

"Can I cling in private?" she asked quietly. Koushiro hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then he noticed the puffy, red skin around her eyes once more, and he sighed.

"I suppose," he allowed brusquely. He planted his hand on the panel by the front door, hoping for some distraction from what he had just said, and it opened to his touch. He stood back, allowing Eimi to go first, then led her to their bedroom. He hauled himself onto his bed, and Eimi followed, laying a few inches apart from him. That surprised him; usually, she insisted on cuddling, and he fell asleep with her soft breathing and strange little mewls filling his ear. Out of respect for her losses, he had allowed her to crowd him without argument for the first few nights, and that proved to be a fatal error. His attempts to convince her to back off always grew circuitous and ineffective under her blend of bossiness and a clever, tricky turn of phrase. His last resort was to ask his father for a separate bed for her, because, as much as he liked Eimi, he needed some space.

Given Eimi's typical insistence on being close to him, he couldn't understand why she was pulling back a bit now. Was it possible that she was angry with him? _That would certainly be within her rights. I did forget about her… _Koushiro fidgeted and quickly sent his father a message with his prosthetics's attachment, eager to return his focus to Eimi. With that accomplished, he stared up into her face, taking hold of her nearest hand.

"I'm so sorry I forgot to pick you up," he said, and he found that it was a true battle to hold her glance. He desperately wanted to look anywhere else. "My father is out searching for you now. We truly meant to find you when our shifts ended, but we got so wrapped up in our work..." He broke off with a strained sound, and his eyes finally slipped from hers. He stared at his comforter blankly.

There was a long silence, and Koushiro felt himself begin to squirm with the strain. Then her voice floated over to him, high and clear. He turned his head towards her and saw that she was staring at the ceiling. "I'm lucky we ran into Jyou-san. Taichi and Hikari and me-"

"I." The correction popped out of his mouth automatically, and Koushiro grimaced and pressed his eyes shut. Now was _not _the time to nitpick about language. Eimi blinked at him, sighed, and patted his cheek.

"Fiiiiine. Taichi, Hikari, and _I _got lost looking for home. I wanted to come home, yanno, but the doors all look the same, and the hallways, too... But Jyou-san said there's a code, and he helped us find you."

"I'll teach it to you right away," Koushiro said earnestly, leaning in closer. "It's really quite simple, and you'll never be lost again once you understand it." Eimi nodded, then stared at him, blinking slowly. She yawned once, twice.

"'M hungry. We missed dinner. We were talkin' a lot."

"I'm sure we can find something. And now that you mention it, I suppose I forgot to eat, as well," Koushiro said, and he began to climb over her, intending to check the fridge. But Eimi put her hand on his shoulder, halting his progress.

"Um, can it wait?" she asked, and Koushiro tilted his head.

"I'm at your service," he said, settling back down. "But... Do you mind if I ask why?"

Eimi exhaled slowly, then huddled up to him. Smiling, Koushiro put an arm around her, feeling very grateful for the affection that normally annoyed him just a little. If it meant that he was forgiven, that things would continue to be as they were, then he was happy.

"I just… I wanna know…" She paused, moved her eyes slowly around the room, and sighed. "When no one came to get me... I guess I started to get scared that you didn't want me anymore." Her voice trembled as she spoke, and a thin veil of moisture formed over her eyes. Koushiro pulled her in against him, feeling an odd squeezing sensation in his chest, as if someone were tightening a vice around his heart. He looked back on his time with her and realized that he had spent most of it forcing her to study and work, asking her to stop crowding him, and refusing her requests to play. It was really no wonder that she thought he didn't want her around. Koushiro closed his eyes and tried to piece together the reason for her affection for him, in light of how he treated her. Was it his rescue mission on the night she arrived? The support he had offered whenever she cried? He wasn't entirely sure that those things were enough to overcome his somewhat prickly way of interacting with her.

But she was staring at him now, wide-eyed and uncertain, and it was obvious that he had to say something. "I assumed that you would want to live with Taichi-san and Hikari-san." He was distantly aware that he should be apologizing and telling her that he did want her around, but the thought of saying something like that was unpalatable, unthinkable, even frightening. When Eimi first arrived, it was actually easier to say emotional, kind things to her, because he could explain it to himself as a necessary measure to soothe a mourning girl. But now… He swallowed hard and looked away from her face, hoping that he wasn't slowly alienating her with his inability to say what needed saying.

"Probably I'll sleep with them sometimes, if that's okay," Eimi said slowly. "But... If it's okay..." She produced an uncomfortable sound, and, when next she spoke, her voice was so quiet that he had to strain to hear, despite her proximity. "You said you were my family."

"I… yes." Breathing deeply, Koushiro gave her back final pat, then released her. But she showed no signs of backing away from him, so he draped an arm over her middle, not wanting to fail to return her touch. "But… If I may ask… Wouldn't you rather be with Taichi-san?" The inherent insecurity of the question had Koushiro coloring and wishing that he could retract his words, but Eimi was already tapping her chin and thinking of an answer. He turned his face away from her and grimaced. It was quickly becoming evident to him that conversations could be dangerous. With luck, he would gain skill in conversing with practice, but, if his father's abilities were any indication, he was in for a lifetime of less-than-stellar social skills.

"I love Taichi and Hikari. A lot. Really," Eimi said. "But… Well…" He could feel her fidgeting against him, and Koushiro realized that she was uncomfortable, too. Somehow, contrarily, that made him feel a little better.

"Taichi can be… bossy." Koushiro fought down his desire to snort. That was like saying that a fleet of Imperial battleships could be dangerous. "Especially to me and Hi- To Hikari and me. He wants us to be safe. He thinks we need him. And, yanno, we love him, so we do. But…"

"But you're quite capable on your own," Koushiro provided. And it did not pass his notice that he could stand to step back a bit in regards to bossing her around, although he was still convinced that tutoring her was important. One of his father's favorite sayings floated through his mind, and Koushiro suddenly found that he had a whole new understanding of it: _moderation in all things, son._

Eimi nodded and pressed a cool, pale hand to his face. "Yeah. But I'm afraid that if I stay real near him all the time… I'll forget that I can do stuff on my own. And, anyway…" Eimi hesitated and caught his eye, and he stared back at her, trying to summon up an encouraging smile. He recognized a reluctance to say something emotional when he saw it, perhaps better than most. "He has Hikari. He will always love Hikari best. Which makes sense, right? But I, I… I've never been anyone's favorite. No one's ever picked me. I've never had a best friend before, who liked me best, too."

All Koushiro could do was stare at her. He might have tried to soothe her by revealing that she was his _only _friend, ever, but his mind was engaged in working its way through her situation. From the hints she had dropped, it seemed that she had not been particularly loved by her nuclear family, and that her opportunities to be with Taichi's family were scarce. And, even then, although the Yagamis certainly seemed to love her, she was something of a sympathy case by virtue of her upbringing. But Drift was a whole new beginning for her, where she could avoid any remnants of pity and dependence leftover from Hokori.

Unless, of course, she spent too much time in Taichi's shadow, which, while protective and loving, could also be inhibiting.

On the other hand, she could stay with the Izumis, who had expectations of her, who were clearly trying to give her the tools she needed to be independent, whose interactions with her were in no way colored by how her family had treated her. Who needed her as much as she needed them. A symbiotic relationship, rather than one that, while well intentioned and affectionate, was also partially based in charity.

From what he knew about her mental processes and capabilities from three weeks of tutoring her, Koushiro was certain that she hadn't come to this decision in the same logical manner that he had. She had surely felt it out with some inscrutable combination of emotion and instinct. But still… This was the harder choice, but the wiser one, and he felt his respect for her increase once more. He forced himself to focus on that feeling of regard, as it was much safer than acknowledging her open affection and trust in him. _I've never had a best friend before, who liked me best, too… _Koushiro knew full well that those words translated into a declaration of some sort of deep, previously unknown partnership, but he had no idea how to even begin to accept such a thing on an emotional level.

At this point, the silence had stretched on well beyond the comfortable limit, and Eimi began to wriggle around nervously. "So, uh, I can stay here, right?" Her fingers began to drum anxiously along his ribcage, and he tried not to laugh. It was faintly ticklish.

"Yes," he said quietly, catching her hand and holding it tightly. "Yes. You're always welcome."

Eimi pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes, and he stayed where he was by pure power of will, despite his instinct to retreat. "Thank you. I'm glad... I kinda thought I bug you sometimes, so, um... I thought you might wanna kick me out, with other family around for me to go to."

Koushiro smiled, unable to hold back the comment forming in his mind. "While you do annoy me sometimes, I have no desire to be rid of you. So please... Don't entertain that thought."

"Entertain?" Eimi echoed, tipping her head. "Izzit bored?"

Koushiro tried to swallow his laugh, but it popped out anyway as an ugly snorting sound. _It would have been better to laugh_, he thought ruefully. Eimi stared at him, wide eyed, then began to giggle hysterically. By the time she was finished, her signs of strain and discomfort were gone. _Well, I suppose this isn't so bad... _

"Nevermind that, for now," Koushiro said, shaking his head. "More importantly... Did you have fun with your cousins today?"

Eimi sighed and squished herself back up against him, and Koushiro had no idea why she suddenly seemed so sad. Hadn't she just cheered up? He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back enough to look at her face, and he found that it was drawn and tight.

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to hide his own strain. Why was nothing going right today?

Eimi rubbed her face and exhaled slowly, never entirely moving her hands away. "My… I mean… Taichi and Hikari… They're only here on Drift at all because… Because…"

His stomach seemed to drop right out of him as he remembered that Taichi and Hikari were here because they were orphans. Why hadn't that occurred to him earlier?! His father had even referred to Taichi as an orphan this morning! "Oh, Eimi-chan," he breathed, holding her against him. "Your uncle and aunt... I'm so sorry."

"That's why he never came for me," Eimi said, and her voice was hollow and distant, despite the fact that she was speaking into his ear. "I know he would have, if he could have...! And, I wonder... D'ya think the empire knew that he wanted to help me? Is that why they destroyed Taichi's village first?"

"No, Eimi-chan," Koushiro said immediately, taking hold of her shoulders. He had no way of guessing what the empire might have known, but he would _not _let Eimi carry this weight around inside of her. "What happened to Taichi-san's village and your village… That is the empire's fault. None of it happened because of you. _You are not to blame_. Do you understand?"

She hesitated and tried to look away, but Koushiro wouldn't allow her to escape. Then, finally, she nodded. There was a heaviness about her features that had no business invading a child's face. Koushiro frowned, deeply wishing that he knew some way to banish it.

Eimi moved in closer to him, burying her head in his chest. "I just… I really want to sleep, Kou-chan," she muttered, and he patted her back. He was familiar with using the oblivion of rest as a method of escape. It didn't heal anything, but, with the damage this fresh and raw, he could hardly blame her for trying.

"Alright. Let's get ready for bed, then." He offered her his hand, and her fingers closed around it immediately. They went through the familiar pre-sleep rituals side by side, crowding the sink to brush their teeth, accidentally nudging each other as they slipped into bed, fading into unconsciousness with echoed words of nighttime parting.

**Author's note: **I keep thinking that I write Koushiro as unrealistically wise and mature, but, then, he has been through a _lot, _and of course, the character is wise and mature to start with.

So! Next chapter is less about relationships and talking and angsting, and more about learning to fight and use Gift and airboard. Which is AWESOME, because I am really tired of writing this sort of thing, and I think it's definitely showing. The conversations and thought processes seem to be less smooth than usual. Bleeeh. After I finish the next arc (which may be told over a few chapters), the kids will age up a little, and we'll be meeting some more Digidestined! And when will Eimi's first perspective chapter take place? Perhaps not for a while! Who knows what that girl is thinking!


End file.
